


Hanzo’s Butterfly

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forced Prostitution, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Yakuza Genji Shimada, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 06:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 74,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12858567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: When Genji tricks Hanzo into going into a human auction and making a purchase, Hanzo is must navigate his way between duty, honor, and his heart.  And with Genji partying his life away, Hanzo’s choices become more serious as he rises to become the master of his clan.WARNING: References to dubious consent and to human trafficking.  This is a fantasy story and both of these are wrong.





	Hanzo’s Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This work references dubious consent and human trafficking. This is a fantasy work that takes place when Hanzo and Genji are both yakuza and so there is lots of references to violence, sex, and lots of crimes.

“So, you see, Honored Sirs,” continued the musical, sing-song voice of the effeminate man as he folded his antique fan of carved wood. “This is the end of our little tour. I believe that you will agree that we provide a rather unique, and, if I may say so, wonderful little service.”

Genji, looking lanky and cocky beside the towering block of his older brother looked around and flicked his hand through his short, glossy green and black hair. The final room was dimly lit, with a sunken floor of elaborately patterned wood. Here and there were pools of light highlighting carved marble columns with various works of art—a stained glass butterfly in remarkable blue, a orange and black Greek vase depicting naked women drawing water, a pale alabaster nude of a woman with a remarkably saucy smile on her face, and other pieces. In three corners of the sunken floor were rather strange looking tables with two levels—one at the normal height for a man to sit in one of the elaborately carved chairs and another level close to the floor—with linen tablecloths and small lacquered bowls with flowers floating in them.

“Quite interesting,” Genji agreed while his older brother hung back in the doorway.

Genji found the walls the most interesting. Unlike the traditional Japanese walls that were made from paper, these walls were elaborately plastered and painted with sensual frescos of women and men in some sort of celebration with fruits and frolicking. Not that they were unusual—the entire place had artwork and elaborate paintings of women in various forms of undress—but these were punctuated with large iron squares that had heavy iron rings hanging from them. Under each ring was a embroidered velvet pillow in some dark lush shade—scarlet rich as wine, sapphire brilliant as a blue bird, emerald like money.

And that was what this place was about—money and lots of it. Money that flowed like tidal waves. Money to get what you wanted, when you wanted it and exactly how you wanted it without a lot of ‘why’ and ‘how’ getting in the way.

Genji glanced at his older brother, Hanzo. Hanzo was looking both elegant and somehow deadly in the dark gray Armani suit with the spotless and gleaming white tailored shirt. The sort of elegant covering that stretched over his heavily muscled frame while only highlighting how very deadly the man was in the most tailored and civilized and expensive way possible. 

Of course, the Shimada clan had money—you couldn’t do any of this without money. But, they also had power too—and that was the thing that this man wanted to buy from them. Power to do what he wished with no one to answer to.

Both brothers had been invited to this place. It had been completely luxurious outside, of course, but had appeared to be an expensive private residence with a driveway that conveniently curved into a bend around the house so that visitors were hidden from the view of the street. The gardens had been trimmed and manicured like a pampered lady’s hands—discreet pathways winding in and out of shadow and pools of lights with feathery ferns and exotic orchids and delicate bonsai in hand glazed pots. There were pools of light and pools of shadow in the nighttime garden like shades of meaning in a sutra.

At the front, their driver had opened the heavy doors to their limousine for them. Body guards had naturally stepped out as well, watching for threats like oversized bulldogs. A butler in a formal uniform of black and white had been standing at the red lacquered doors waiting for them. He hadn’t even asked for verification of their identities—just opened the doors that were carved with an immense dragon and Phoenix—and led them into a salon with blue walls and a frighteningly extensive collection of butterflies in hand rubbed frames.

There, Asahi had received them. He was a slender man with long fingers and a thick wad of glossy black hair contained by an elaborate gold and black piece of cloth and an entirely unnecessary and overly ornate gold hairpin. He wore no less than 4 layers of kimono—each piece was scarlet, black, or white and stiff with golden embroidery—that made him look like an expensive chocolate truffle or an over-wrapped gift. Two golden rings adorned his carefully manicured hands and he wore two golden earrings. Somehow he seemed to be a combination of the past with his kimono and a decadent future that was gilded golden.

Two women in plain black kimono and obis with hoods had brought out small trays with tiny square cups of exquisite sake and took their outer coats to some hidden closet. The hoods had covered their faces as though they were the shrouded scene shifters in some kabuki play and the kimono had lent only the barest hint of their figures. They were silent shadows, bringing forward their trays and then vanishing like specters.

The each took a small, refined sip of the intoxicating brew, briefly acknowledging the other men’s rank. Asahi then, with a delicate, sing-song voice, began to explain exactly why his…services were so unique and why he required the assistance of the Shimada clan.

He sold women. And some men who were so pretty and slender that they could be women.

That part wasn’t special. Genji had laughed shortly—many different places provided women or men or both for a price. Hanzo had only managed to look faintly bored, glancing around at the sumptuous decor briefly before carelessly discarding his drink on a side table. Asahi chuckled then—like an amused little boy—catching their air of disinterest, and suggested a small tour.

Then it had come to light. Asahi didn’t just sell people—he sold, as he put it, customizations. For the right price, he would make practically any vision of erotic imagination a reality with a demure and humble mien and an attitude of subservient compliance. There was literally nothing, he claimed, that gave him as much pleasure as making others’ sensual fantasies walk out on their arm.

They had toured the various rooms, and the fluid procession showed each stage of the training and customizations. In the first room, there were the new subjects—Asahi called them “caterpillars”—who were scared and timid and only beginning to be trained as courtesans. That room held thick walls and any number of toys and prods to teach them the business of pleasuring men and women.

They traveled down the hallway surrounded by painted dancing maidens and odalisques. Several doors were on each side, with thick reinforced glass windows showing a small dormitory, a rather crowded room where no less than seven were learning to do the ritual of the tea ceremony, a currently empty room with musical instruments and thick wads of music stuffed in folders and on stands, a strange room where no less than twelve were exercising and stretching at the barres attached to the walls or pumping up and down with pushups and sit-ups and sweat poured off their bodies and dripped to the glistening floor below.

Genji peeked in at the next one and cocked a ruthless smile. Asahi glanced inside and smirked. “Ahh, yes. An…unfortunate room.”

Hanzo sauntered up and glanced inside. The room itself was almost completely dark with a single pool of light showing the back of a curvaceous girl tied in a most complicated way with her limbs in the most tortured of positions. She had dark red lines on her back as well, and in the dim light, whips, canes and other devices hung in tidy rows on the wall.

Asahi sighed heavily, snapping open the wooden fan and whipping it back and forth under his chin. Tendrils of his hair floated in the slight breeze and he shrugged nonchalantly. “It is unfortunate…. Every so often, one of the caterpillars has difficulty becoming a lovely butterfly.” One hand gracefully gestured towards the door. “A few more hours and she will be a little bit better…behaved.” His face turned a bit and he cracked a bit of a smile as he waved a keycard in the air. “Unless one of you would prefer to help her along her journey?”

Genji grinned and seemed about to agree before Hanzo spoke. “Carry on.”

Asahi nodded gracefully. “As you wish, of course. If you would like to….visit any time…..” He gestured towards the door again with a smooth smile.

Genji’s eyes rolled sarcastically and Hanzo grunted shortly.

Asahi only nodded impishly and led them through the door at the end of the hallway. This room was gracefully furnished with a number of small tables and chairs surrounding a raised runway. Blown glass bulbs held unlit candles on the tables with spotless white damask cloths. Each tablecloth had a slit about four inches wide where a heavy ring was set into the table leg. The room had recessed lights and Asahi turned them all the way up to lead them through.

“Of course, gentlemen,” Asahi explained airily. “This is where the caterpillars are reserved. There is no auction tonight, but, if you are interested in a…partnership, I can guarantee you seats at the next one.”

“Reserved?” Hanzo grunted.

Asahi laughed. “Yes. My guests reserve their caterpillars and then give us the details to ensure that they are perfect, beautiful butterflies.” He gestured to the empty room. “Once they are reserved, then my guests…. Well… let me show you.”

Again they were led through a hallway. This one smelled of antiseptic and alcohol and was exceptionally wide. Heavy benches were bolted to the floor and stainless steel rings were were hung at regular intervals. Again doors led off each side, showing three operating rooms and two rooms that were curtained off cubicles with beds that showed only bare feet.

The last room had no window and Asahi paused for a moment to pull out some delicate keys. “This way, if you please.”

This room was entirely old-style Japan, with thick tatami mats and sliding shoji. A raised square of marble was in the middle with a spotlight pouring down on it’s pristine whiteness. Thick cushions of brocade were on the floor. A single squat table had a thick, creamy candle and a carefully placed pair of heavy, hand-rubbed wooden fountain pens. Hanzo could see that the pens were carefully varnished and the light and dark wood grain gleamed in the light.

Asahi gestured at the table. “This is the best part, of course.” He smiled and snapped shut the fan before tucking it into the elaborate obi around his waist. “Please, sit.”

Genji strode up to the cushion closest to the table and plopped down. Hanzo knelt down to study their strange host as he pulled out a thick sheaf of papers to show them. Genji snatched up the first copy and Hanzo could see him practically licking his lips as he began reading.

Asahi silently passed Hanzo another copy for his pleasure. “As you can see, we are able to provide almost anything that you might desire.” Hanzo’s eyes flicked through the rather dry looking forms. “And you can specify almost any combination to get the most perfect specimen for your desires.”

Genji chuckled dryly, flicking through the pages. “Enlarged breasts—“

“Practically standard,” Asahi sighed. “You can, of course, specify how large….”

“Milk/lactation?” Genji giggled. Hanzo rolled his eyes impatiently.

Asahi shrugged. “It is not my particular fetish, but some enjoy it.”

“A tail?!”

“If you wish.” Asahi shrugged eloquently again. “What color would you like the fur?”

Genji grinned wickedly. “What about scales?”

Finally, Asahi’s narrow eyes widened fractionally. “That would be more unusual.” He began fanning himself again. “But I am assured that with proper preparation, we can accommodate it.” He grinned slyly. “So has one of our caterpillars captured your attention?”

Genji was about to say something, but Hanzo sighed out, “Whether or not they are addicted to the drugs of choice? Eye color? Hair color? Bald?”

“A simple matter of electrolysis and then transplanting the hair color you desire—if any.” Asahi grinned. “And the eyes are another simple operation.” He gestured towards the marble square. “Quite a bit can be done with nanites or prosthetics. Omnic technology. Cybernetics if necessary. The waist can be restructured and the hips augmented if you like curvy or bits removed if you do not desire them. All of this is done to your taste.”

Hanzo grunted again, his eyes glancing at the seemingly endless choices and tiny checkboxes. “And, of course, that—“

Asahi interrupted smoothly. “That is where we might need…a little help in making sure that we are not interrupted.” He shrugged again. “We can obviously not afford to have such delicate medical procedures interrupted. Nor can we afford to have medical boards and such questioning our every little procedure.”

Hanzo grunted. “And the police?”

“Definitely not the police,” Asahi chuckled. “But—,” He gestured towards the wall that led back down the passageway. “—We have ensured that the chief of police has a…vested interest in making sure that our little operations go smoothly.” He laughed again at the raised eyebrows of the Shimada brothers. “The poor little caterpillar in the punishment room is his.” Asahi giggled again softly. “His daughter—at his request.”

Hanzo felt his mind rock back, even if he stayed perfectly still and straight, motionless. He glanced down at the mind boggling list again. Every trait about a person could be altered until nothing was recognizable. Asahi even pulled out a slickly printed book showing previous “caterpillars” as they became “butterflies”, burbling on about every one was tracked with tiny microchips and casually dropping the shocking names of previous customers and their requirements.

Genji was reacting like a small child in a toy store, gleefully paging. Perhaps he was considering making a purchase? Hanzo groaned in his head, anticipating the reckless behavior that was sure to come. Which would, in turn, bring his father’s wrath down on them both. Especially him, since he had always been tasked with keeping Genji in line.

Asahi only smirked and nodded at Genji’s comments, as though it was an everyday occurrence. Of course, here, it probably was. Hanzo sighed and carefully placed the pile of papers down again.

“—if we can come to an agreement,” Asahi was chirping. “Then, I would be most happy to offer up a butterfly for the Shimada household.” He slid a glance to Hanzo’s stiff form. “And, of course, discounts on future purchases in addition to the usual protection fees.” He nodded to himself. “I would be happy to begin the paperwork, if we are all in agreement…?”

Genji opened his mouth and Hanzo clipped out, “I think—.”

Genji growled and stared at his brother, glancing at the paperwork meaningfully. “Perhaps we should talk about this—?!”

Hanzo pushed the papers a bit more towards Asahi. Genji had that mutinous set to his mouth that said that he was already plotting how to go around his objections. But really, a whore was a whore was a whore….

Asahi took a stealthy glance at them and smirked. “Why don’t you gentlemen come to the auction tomorrow and see if there is someone who catches your eye?” He smirked again slyly. “There is no obligation to buy, of course, but it might be amusing for you to see how these things work.” He shrugged a bit. “And, of course, we have many interesting people who attend, so it might be something of a…networking event as well.”

The rest of the tour was swift, mostly rooms that were for financial affairs, deliveries and such. Then they were back in the blue parlor, which seemed almost boring and prosaic compared to the rest of the compound.

And, as a young man will, Genji was all full of comments. He even still held the list of “customizations” and continued to point to various things. Hanzo listened with half an ear, his mind already on the next meeting, the next deal and not really paying attention to the other brother. Hanzo expected that there would be a “butterfly” in the Shimada compound before too much longer, no matter what his objections were.

Still, it was worth trying. “No, Genji.”

Genji frowned and then cocked a sly smile. “I didn’t say a word.”

Hanzo sighed. “You were going to.”

“Would I do that?” He grinned at his older brother, his eyes wide and innocent in a calculating way.

“Every time.” Hanzo pulled out more papers and began to study them. “We don’t need another body to trip over—“

“I’d make sure that she wasn’t being…tripped over.” Genji pulled his papers closer to his chest. He flicked a pen out of his blazer and began jotting down notes. “It might be…fun.” He stuck out his tongue impudently. “And—!”

“And nothing, brother,” Hanzo chuffed. “You need to focus more on the business, rather than….” He gestured uselessly. “Your pleasures need to take less precedence.”

“And you need to get that stick out of your ass and have some fun.” Genji puffed out a bit of air, glancing at his stiff sibling over the papers. He cocked his head, thinking deeply. Hanzo glanced over at his sudden silence with a faint look of alarm. “What if we could work out a deal?”

Hanzo openly stared at his brother. Genji was always picking at the angles, trying new tricks all the time. No matter how he anticipated his tricks, Genji always found a new angle to pick at. While it made him a challenging chess opponent and an invaluable ally when it came to finding chinks and weaknesses in others, it also made him a most troubling sibling to try to manage.

And didn’t the entire Shimada clan know it? The various lieutenants were already snickering at their almost legendary spats. It was causing endless friction and tiny splits—like hairline fractures in a piece of porcelain that were barely visible, but there nonetheless. Hanzo sighed, looking blankly at the papers in his hands. How much longer could it go on before factions formed—some drawn by Genji’s easy but capricious charm and others staying faithful to him as the head of the clan? The younger, more rebellious already favored dealing with Genji, and as the hereditary head of the clan, the more conservative and traditional elders preferred him. When his father finally died, what would become of the unity of the Shimada clan?

The elders had begun approaching him, trying to drop casual hints that he needed to be firmer with Genji. Some few had wrapped up their concerns in soft conversations that maybe the younger man needed a wife to help him settle down. Others had suggested drugs or therapy or offered to mentor him. Hanzo stopped himself from snorting at the thought—Genji had plenty of women and did not need to be influenced by anyone else. And he certainly didn’t need to be drawn into the various power squabbles with the lesser yakuza.

Hanzo sighed heavily, putting the papers down in his lap and not seeing the lights flashing past the windows. Perhaps he needed a bit of a carrot to help guide Genji down the aisle of duty. If an overpriced piece of flesh would help, it might be worth the price….

And so he took a deep breath and stared at the slope in front of him, slick with excuses and excesses. Staring ahead without seeing anything—the roof mounted tv screen blurting the news and stock reports, the ape-like shape of the body guard in the passenger seat in front of him—he nodded slightly.

Genji caught it—that slight movement that sent them over the edge towards an unknown and dark abyss—and smiled wickedly. Hanzo only sighed, watching as they began sliding down the slope.

“There are conditions.” Hanzo growled, his teeth clenching.

Genji snorted irreverently. “Aren’t there always?” He looked down at Asahi’s papers thoughtfully. Hanzo slid him a sideways and startled glance. “So what is it this time?”

Hanzo put aside his papers. This was more important. Maybe it was a way to help get Genji in line, and that was far more important than anything else if the unity and power of the Shimada clan was to move forward. He slid up the privacy screen and quietly asked the big driver to just drive around the city until told otherwise. Then he and Genji were alone in the back, watching the city flash past.

Genji was already distracted, staring at the sidewalks and the buildings moving past them. The lights of the storefronts glittered across his sharp features and he would occasionally smirk at the women on the darkened street corners. Hanzo sighed. Genji was probably only minutes from signaling the driver to pull over and haul in the first relatively attractive woman he saw. He could spend hours training with swords or guns. He could play games on his tablet for hours and could spend days trying to figure out puzzles.

Why couldn’t he focus a little more on the family business?

Hanzo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to hopefully ward off a headache. While Genji had been sleeping off a party that morning, he had slipped into his brother’s office and looked at his desk. The sole reason that Genji’s desk was neat half the time was because Hanzo himself put the papers on Genji’s desk and out of habit put them into a single, neat pile—a pile that was undisturbed.

Last night, Hanzo had sighed and sat down heavily in the overstuffed chair. “What are you doing, Genji?” He had looked at the papers and folders. “This should have been dealt with already.” He looked at his neat notes, the fluorescent green little papers that highlighted his questions. “Genji, you should…. Damn. I will just do it myself.” He had tapped the keyboard of the thin laptop in front of him, making random guesses at the login information. “Now…what would a womanizing and mischievous, crazy man make his password?”

He had laughed softly as the next guess ended up being correct. Being up all night himself, trying to resolve a small problem with the Bell Crickets gang, he felt strangely giddy in his exhaustion. The servants were in bed, and he really didn’t feel like trying to explain—again—why he was ordering coffee in his brother’s office. Especially since they had all heard the loud and extended arguments that Genji was absolutely, positively not going to be allowed to be lazy and worthless and had to pay attention to the business. Then they had all heard Genji shout back at him again that he needed some other hobby than trying to run his life. Then the loud shouts and eventual punches and kicks.

If an overpriced piece of flesh—something he could mold and get attached to—could help him, maybe it was worth it. Hanzo caught the slight flicker of movement of his brother’s finger towards the intercom button and cleared his throat.

“There are conditions.”

“Of course there are.” Genji scowled, despite his upbeat tone. “So let’s get down to the bargaining points.”

Hanzo felt exhaustion creeping around him. He couldn’t keep doing his and Genji’s work. No matter how much he trained. No matter how he tried to rationalize or excuse Genji. No matter how much he might want to, he simply could not do it much longer. Finally, he sighed, “Just one.”

Genji smirked, already sure of his victory. “No.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes and pulled open the tiny refrigerator. Pushing aside the copious bottles of Genji’s liquors and beers, he dug out a bottle of sparkling mineral water. There was purity and calm in the icy liquid and the buzzing bubbles sliding down his throat. Finally, with a glare, he snapped back, “So what were you thinking?!”

Genji smiled wickedly. “Oh, just two.”

“Two? Is one not enough?” Hanzo glared at him. “The kanji for chaos is two women under one roof.”

“Oh, I agree. Don’t worry—I have already have tried two in bed and it was only fun for a few hours.” Genji smiled at his brother’s stormy face. “So I only want one.” He looked at the papers again. “The other one is for you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no deal.” Genji shrugged carelessly and began watching out the window as the limo slowed down for a stoplight. “Now, how about you be a good pain in the ass and let me have the limo. There’s a seriously hot blonde a block down.”

Hanzo groaned. “Fine…we will…consider one…for me.”

Genji grinned. “Wouldn’t want mine to be lonely, would we?” Hanzo nodded stiffly and waited for the limo to start again as the light turned green—a subtle nod that he’d at least continue talking. “So I get to pick one out with all the extras—and then we get one for you—.”

“Not a chance.” Hanzo snarled, folding his arms over his chest. “But, in return for this…little favor…you need absolutely to be putting your time in at the office.”

Genji’s eyes rolled. “Well…I suppose that this is where you lecture me about being responsible.” He folded his arms over his chest impatiently and glared slightly. “So, let’s hear the speech and get it over with.” He sighed. “And let’s at least give me a cap on working hours. I’m only young once.”

“She is only…entertainment.” Hanzo leaned back further against the seat. “Nothing serious.” Genji sighed loudly and was about to say something before Hanzo interrupted. “It’s too important that you are available for marriage—!”

“To some other yakuza’s moon-faced daughter? No thanks! Geld me now if that’s my only option.”

“Genji!”

“I mean it. Just geld me and get it over with.”

“Be serious.”

“I am!”

“No…you can choose to marry or not—.” Hanzo caught his brother’s gleaming eyes. “—but you have to appear to be eligible and available.” He shrugged. “It helps in making people feel like there is the potential to make a match and then to get—“

“Never mind.”

“So she is only…entertainment.” Hanzo’s voice coughed hoarsely. “She stays in your apartments and does not come out.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And you put in—let us say 8 hours a day. That is fair. Maybe a few more in an emergency.”

“Brother, we are the most powerful yakuza clan in the country. What kind of emergency could there be?”

Hanzo growled in his throat. “What are you going to do if I am not behind you to clean up your messes?” He jerked his hand angrily. “And no children.”

“Aww..shucks. Here I was looking forward to the patter of little feet.” He cocked his head angrily. “Why don’t you get a life?!” Then Genji growled in return. “Just get one for yourself.” He lounged back lazily. “I can’t wait to see you without that stick up your ass.” Then he cocked his head back against the window. “You’re gonna flip out the first time she—!”

Hanzo only sighed. “So we will go to the damn auction tomorrow night.”

“It will do you good to get out and have some fun.” Genji rubbed his hands in anticipation. “At last we get out and party!”

Hanzo only nodded angrily and signaled the driver to return home. He glanced at Genji, “And I will expect you to finish the paperwork on your desk and finish collecting that protection money from the northeast blocks before we go.”

The next night, the Shimada brothers were driving up to the expensive house with the scarlet door. They had watched a few other figures climb out of equally expensive limousines or Bentleys or Porches. One or two of the heavily guarded figures were business associates with the Shimadas—yakuza from other families or clans or particularly successful fences or informants. Others were unfamiliar faces.

Asahi was just inside the door, greeting everyone coming in. He was even more elaborately dressed—in silver, gray, teal and navy and not less than 6 layers of kimono with two silver hairpins and bracelets and rings with an ivory ribbed, lacy fan. He smiled and laughed a bit as Genji sauntered in and then Hanzo stalked in angrily.

“So good to see you gentlemen,” Asahi smiled in a cat-like way. “Take these cards and you will have the best seats in the house.” He passed them small ivory cards with a gold figure of a butterfly on them. “Do enjoy yourselves.”

Guests were served tiny ceramic cups of sake and little carved bits of food—melon balls, strawberries carved to look like roses, star shaped toasts with crumpled fresh cheese and other nibbles—by black masked and robed anonymous figures. Genji slammed back his sake and took another cup. Hanzo grunted at black figure and whispered to her. She nodded with a bow and reappeared a few moments later with a crystal tumbler.

Genji swerved back to stand beside Hanzo. “Come now, brother,” he whispered quietly. “The night is too young to have sober pleasures.”

“Hardly sober,” Hanzo grunted, nodding at another yakuza across the room. He raised his tumbler carefully and Genji grunted at the smell of tequila.

“Tequila? You’re going to be going home with at least one butterfly tonight. Maybe even more than one if you keep drinking that stuff.” He grinned and toasted his older brother in return. “Your tastes have improved.”

“I will not be needing this,” Hanzo sighed, trying to wave away another wandering server with a platter of sake cups. Unsurprisingly, Genji intercepted another little cup and slammed it back. “You do not need it either.”

Genji only laughed and began to wander away again. Hanzo took a cautious sip. The little figure had listened to him carefully. There was a wet rim of tequila and the ice cubes had been rinsed with the noxious stuff but then it was filled with mineral water. It was an adequate mask to make it appear that he was drinking as much as anyone else.

He watched as Genji set his cup down on a tray as it floated past. “You do not need to continue drinking the alcohol,” Hanzo scolded softly. “There is plenty at home, first of all, and secondly alcohol has been known to cause one to make…unwise decisions.”

“Which is why you should drink more,” Genji replied. He casually glanced over the room. “You should make at least a few bad decisions every now and then to get it out of your system. You’re only young once too.”

Hanzo was about to make a retort, but Asahi’s voice echoed over the room, “Gentlemen, my truly great friends, it is now time for us to spend the evening enjoying the grace, the beauty and the potential of my collection of butterflies as they take flight to you.”

Asahi led them through a delightful interior garden directly to the runway room. That room was now tastefully darkened and the creamy candles were lit and each table had orchid and lily blossoms around the candles. Small scarlet napkins were placed at each table and there were tiny tablets with little gilded pencils at each place.

True to his word, the moment that Genji and Hanzo showed their butterfly cards, they were carefully escorted to the table at the very end of the runway. A tiny Oriental woman in heavy makeup and dark kimono immediately came up and whispered that she was the assigned server, took their orders and promptly brought them yet another set of drinks.

Hanzo grunted as he was brought a tumbler—this time full of tequila, unfortunately. The bartenders must be getting backed up, as every man seemed to be intent on getting fresh drinks. Genji was brought a martini glass with some obscenely named drink in it and a long pick loaded up with cherries, lemon, orange and apple bits.

“Excuse me, Miss?” Genji whispered, watching as everyone was being seated and settled with new tumblers and cups and glasses. At one table, a rather rheumy looking individual who constantly dabbed at his nose and sneezed into his handkerchief ordered an entire carafe of sake as he fondled his server openly and with no shame. “So where are the girls?”

She affected a giggle—an obviously fake giggle. “Honored Sir, the girls are brought out singly. A reserve price is announced and you write down your offering base price on the tablet. The papers are collected and then the cocoon is awarded to the winner.”

“But what about—?!”

“Oh, the winners are taken back to another room with the cocoons and then you can set up the customizations that you want and the upgrades are charged to your account when your butterfly is ready.”

Genji frowned a bit, suddenly a little less into the events. He only nodded. “I see. Thank you, my lovely.”

She smiled at Genji’s thick charm, causing Hanzo to roll his eyes impatiently. “Of course! If you need assistance at any time, Honored Sirs, then I am solely at your service.”

She bowed and backed away hurriedly, offering a smile to Hanzo’s grim face. Genji picked up the pick of fruit and nibbled it delicately. Hanzo frowned harder and sighed heavily. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“Are you?” He grinned, ignoring his brother's glowering face. “I'm holding you to our bargain. I get one and you get one.” He took a sip of his drink, smirking at its taste. “And then I’ll slave in the family salt mines.” He smiled and rolled his eyes theatrically. “But only if you get one, too. Otherwise it's off.”

Asahi came walking up the runway. His heavy kimono shushed behind him in the sudden silence and the runway floor lit up with flowing blue and white waves with his footsteps. “My friends, I welcome you to my house. We have a selection of twelve today.” He nodded at the smattering of applause. “I hope that you will enjoy the food, the drink and the endless beauty that is…tonight.”

With a swish of heavy fabric and a snap of his fan, he walked to the back of the runway. Genji snorted as the runway lights changed from wispy blue and white to bursts of creamy butterflies and falling pink petals.

Asahi waved offstage and a naked female come out from behind the curtains at the top of the runway. She had lovely blonde braids starting at her ears and flowing down her back and shy blue eyes. The only things she wore was a pair of white lace elbow long gloves and a pair of white high heel sandals with thin straps. She walked down the runway gracefully and then knelt down facing the audience in a spotlight.

“This is our white butterfly tonight,” Asahi smiled. “We have a reserved price of 4000.”

Genji leaned over to Hanzo. “A whore is usually worth more than that, right?” Hanzo nodded, not particularly thinking about how he knew this kind of esoteric trivia. “Asahi must be counting on the upgrades bringing in the money.”

Genji and Hanzo both waved away the black clad figure with the teak box, noting as others folded small papers and put them into the box as it came around. No one was particularly shy about this either—it was very comfortable as though they were purchasing paintings or just watching as the teak box made its way up to Asahi. Asahi nodded solemnly and pulled out the handful of papers before nodding over them and saying “Congratulations on the purchase of our white butterfly, Honored Sir.” He leaned over and showed the paper to a black-clad person who came down the runway and led the woman down to a table.

Asahi nodded as the woman was leashed to the table and the teak box was emptied. The runway changed again to blue butterflies and white petals and a new woman appeared. This one was a charming red headed woman with an attractive Oriental face. She had the obligatory high heels and a belt with a gauzy blue train trailing behind. Asahi smirked and remarked the reserve price casually. Hanzo noted that Genji put in a hastily scrawled bid before dropping it into the teak box.

Hanzo sat stiffly through four more “butterflies” including a set of twins, noting as Genji bid for each. The others were a rainbow of colors and faces, almost universally slender and graceful and put into very little more than a variety of gloves and high heels in a multitude of colors. It was all unexpectedly calm—no more energy and pulsing, scathing sensuality than a lingerie fashion show, minus the lingerie. And that this was for keeps, rather than harmless flirtation.

The green butterfly made Genji sit up. Hanzo yawned behind his hand, mentally planning the most grueling workout he could think of, but was amused that this was the one that caught his brother’s interest. She was a petite girl with a sweet looking heart shaped face and slender to the point of appearing abnormally young and wearing a green lacy scarf trailing down her back and short auburn hair and glossy dark eyes. The elder brother was slightly amused as Genji muttered something softly to himself and entirely focused on her, leaning forward with interest.

Genji had a figure written out almost before she knelt at the end of the runway. Asahi casually mentioned a higher amount and that the “green butterfly” was a virgin. It was said in an offhand way, as though he were pointing out an interesting flower or a peculiar cloud. Genji glanced around and saw the number of little pieces of paper were being dropped into the teak box, then abruptly changed his bid, scratching out his original figure and writing another one.

Hanzo sighed heavily, unsurprised that Genji’s bid—whatever it was—was the winning bid. The female was led to the table and a steel cable leash attached her to the table. Hanzo stared at her for a moment, trying to process what he saw.

Her hair was flowing loosely down her back, but seemed to be oily and almost lank. Her eyes were glassy as she looked up at them both in short glances and she seemed to be trembling. Hanzo felt a bit squeamish—she had been given some kind of drug to help her through this. Undoubtedly Asahi would have some prosaic explanation for that too since he seemed to have a gift for such excuses.

Frowning, he glanced at the next one—the purple butterfly—who was a strong looking woman with very closely cropped hair and dark skin like coffee. She was definitely giving absent, glassy looks and had obviously been given something—Hanzo would bet his bow on it and not sweat a drop.

Genji sat back and relaxed and seemed to be rather content with the situation. He also didn’t spare his “butterfly” another look, which seemed rather out of place given his initial enthusiasm. Instead, he simply sipped his drink and watched idly with a small, satisfied grin on his face.

Hanzo frowned and took a cautious sip of the tequila. Genji had become more and more distant, more unfathomable, as he had grown. When had they gone from brothers who could predict each other’s moves and thoughts to being so distant? When had Genji become so….

Different?

They had gone through almost every color in the known rainbow—white, yellow (the twins), orange, red, green, blue, indigo, purple—at this point and Hanzo wondered what would happen next since none of the “butterflies” were offered names. It was a rather trivial point to ponder, but he was obliged out of duty and protocol to sit quietly and complacently. He had planned his workout, exactly what tasks to assign to Genji and how he would forbid him from having his “butterfly” unless those tasks were accomplished. There was nothing else he could plan out, so he was stuck with little idiotic details to ponder until this was finally over.

What had the world come to that men—powerful men with fat bank accounts—were willing to buy from a place like this? These were men who could practically snap and get anything they wanted. Instead, they were offering a wad of money to get them gift wrapped and dropped into their lap.

What happened to the thrill of the chase?

He sighed heavily. Even Genji was buying into this modern notion of just going out and buying without thought. The Shimada fortunes that were gained with blood and sweat and effort were not dented in the slightest by Genji’s excesses—new cars, new clothes, new toys—but it did seem to be that something was lost when it was charged to an account rather than earned.

Asahi gestured idly at the runway. “Eight butterflies out of twelve have flown. Let us take a moment to pause for refreshments before the rest of our butterflies spread their wings. Those who wish to celebrate their butterflies and gild their wings may join me through the gardens.”

Hanzo stood stiffly as their personal server escorted Genji and the “green butterfly” away. He started to follow, but another server led him the opposite way, giggling that only “collectors” could go to the other room. Rolling his eyes, he allowed himself to be drawn away and shown through the house to the bar and lounge area.

Genji was alone and back at the table before Hanzo was allowed to return. He seemed to be very satisfied with himself as he looked at the runway one more time. Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Satisfied?”

“I anticipate being very satisfied,” Genji nodded, a little strangely distantly.

Hanzo snorted again. “Can we please go home now?”

“Quiet. Asahi is beginning again.” Genji cast a cynical eye at the elder brother. “And you don’t have yours.”

Asahi did come out again, looking refreshed and calm. “How lovely that eight butterflies have gone to collectors. And yet four remain.” He nodded at the audience’s short applause. “So let us see our butterflies take flight.”

Genji leaned over and whispered, “Fusty windbag.” At Hanzo’s nod, he continued softly, “Now we must find yours.” He whispered in a singsong. “And you’re gonna freak.” With another idle sip of his drink, he continued, “Do you even have any idea what to do with a willing woman?” Hanzo rolled his eyes, not wanting to even answer that and Genji kept grinning like an evil cat. “Have you even had a woman?”

“Stop, Genji,” Hanzo snapped.

“Not until you get one of your own.” Genji waved idly and their server appeared with another martini and long pick of fruit. “Do you want a blonde, a brunette or redhead?”

Hanzo shook his head. “Not for me.”

“You agreed. It’s all over if you don't hold up your end.” Genji sat back with a satisfied air. “And I’ll be a free man.”

Hanzo stared at his brother blankly. Then he recalled the ridiculous bargain and sighed. He was likely not going to get out of here without making a purchase. Groaning, he finally took a heavy swallow of the smooth and biting tequila.

The pink butterfly was another blonde with startling blue eyes and an unmistakably beautiful masculine face. There was a “jade” butterfly, then a “gold” butterfly who was suntanned, golden haired and gorgeous. Hanzo felt absolutely nothing for any of them, even though Genji seemed actually interested the gold one. He sighed and shook his head at his younger brother, who seemed to be just about to sneak in another bid.

What would he give to have Genji obey the rules? Anything. What would he pay to be sure that his younger brother would be responsible and respectful? Anything. Anything and everything—he'd give it all to get his brother to behave.

Then the last one came out as the word ‘anything’ was echoing in his head. She was shorter and curvier than the others, coming out in black lace gloves and a black lace mask and stringy sandals with laces that wound up to her knees. She had lightly tanned skin and thick black hair with the strangest hazel eyes. Hanzo watched as she swayed up the runway and from her clear gaze sweeping the crowd, he could tell that she was not in a drugged fog as the other had been.

“At least bid on this one since she’s the last—and you promised,” Genji prodded. With a dark smile, he said, “Or I will bid for you.”

She met his gaze casually. He was right in front of her, obviously, but she gazed clearly into his eyes. He was sure she was looking directly at him specifically. It was unsettling after being surrounded by females—if one didn’t count the pink butterfly—that refused to meet anyone’s gaze. But she was clear-headed—at least, by comparison—and looked directly at him.

Her gaze was simply…asking. It wasn’t the practiced, blank gaze across the room—but directly at him, asking something so clearly he could almost hear the words.

He moved without thought, caught in her gaze. Then there was the lovely server at his elbow, asking if he would like to add his bid to the box. He couldn’t even recall whatever it was that Asahi had said was her reserve price. Instantly, he felt sweat prickle his palms and his forehead, prompting Genji to laugh and grab the paper and stuff it in the box.

The servant whisked away the box before he could protest. Asahi was smiling slightly like he always was, watching the box make its way to the front. Blindly looking at his tumbler, Hanzo did not want to see everyone else bidding on her. With another sigh, Asahi opened the box and reached inside.

There was only one paper in the box.

Asahi’s eyes looked up with an act of mild, curious surprise. “Why, our precious black butterfly has been collected.”

The girl’s eyes went wide for a moment as the escort led her off the runway, but they locked on to his eyes again with a gleaming smile, ignoring Genji’s little smirk and flashing eyes. He smiled—a little—and suddenly she finally flushed and glanced down, faltering a little as she was led to the iron ring in their table. She knelt without protest or sound, except a heavy sigh.

Asahi smiled and gestured to the room. “Thank you, great friends, for joining me. I hope that you have collected the butterflies that you desired and, if not, then please leave a number for us to let you know when we have more caterpillars ready to become…butterflies.”

Everyone clapped politely. Asahi repeated his invitation to the new owners and Genji was ushered away as Hanzo was led to a new room. Everyone was smiling—butterflies and “collectors” alike—except Hanzo, who was stone faced with his black butterfly.

The four owners were ushered into tiny cubicles with a nerdy looking men in a white coats in each one and shoji doors sliding swiftly and silently shut. There was another squat table with a familiar ream of papers, wooden pens and three cushions.

“Ahh, the black butterfly,” the strange man began. “How nice—!”

The shoji opened unexpectedly and Asahi glided inside without invitation. “Please forgive me for interrupting, Doctor. But I would like to do this myself….”

“Of course, Asahi-sama,” he nodded.

Asahi let the man leave and knelt gracefully down at the table in the doctor’s place. Absently, he asked, “Do you want to have something else to drink, Honored Sir?” At Hanzo’s short shake, he shrugged. “As you wish. Now, let us take care of this paperwork and conclude our mutually enjoyable evening.”

Asahi absently pulled out a creamy slip of paper and Hanzo felt himself start to sweat. What had he written? Hopefully nothing too extreme. But even the girl seemed to be curious in that little slip of paper and Asahi only folded it in half and carefully slid it into a chest pocket with a catlike smile.

Asahi giggled and pulled out the papers. “So, we will begin our design.”

“She is beautiful as she is now—!” Hanzo snapped.

“She will be beyond beautiful when you are done with her.” Asahi smiled smugly. “And I will very content to know that I had some small part in your future happiness.”

The girl was very curious about the papers, which Hanzo supposed was natural since those papers would contain the plan for what would happen to her. She looked up briefly at him and then again at the papers, but at the slightest movement from Asahi, she folded her hands and bowed her head meekly.

Asahi smirked in approval. Then, with a flourish, he offered a pen to Hanzo. Hanzo took the pen, silently admiring the heavy, solid weight of it. His mind instinctively calculated the weight and heft in his hand—evaluating its possibilities as a weapon. The other man turned the papers around, and pointed to the first line.

Hanzo shook his head shortly. “Give us a few moments.”

Asahi’s eyes gleamed and he let out a chuckle. “For a man who wasn’t sure yesterday that he wanted to have anything to do with one of my butterflies, I am quite interested to see what changed your mind.” He grinned slyly. “Your brother was not so—.”

“Never mind what my brother said or did,” Hanzo interrupted. “Just give me a moment to talk to her.” He cocked his head. “She can talk, can’t she?”

“Oh?” Asahi smirked, picking up his pen and flipping to a page. “Do you want her to or not?”

“Yes!” Hanzo snapped, completely aware that she made some little sigh that seemed to be relief.

“I see,” Asahi smiled, making a check on the page. Then he glanced at Hanzo’s murderous glare. “With your indulgence, I will check on my other collectors and be back in, shall we say ten minutes?”

Hanzo could only nod and glare at the flamboyant man as he stood and glided out. The woman didn’t move, but she did at least glance up at him before returning her gaze to her hands. Hanzo’s heavy hand slammed down on the papers and he scooped them up.

The papers were no less disturbing, particularly since he had a living, breathing woman that would be affected by his choices. He glanced at them and then at her.

“Do you have a name, female?” he demanded. She only shook her head and he groaned. “Do you want to make any of these choices or—?”

She whispered so softly and delicately that he was straining to hear her. “All of the choices are yours, Honored One.”

“So you do not care if I puff you up like a pastry?”

She bowed low, her head almost touching the table. “Whatever you wish is yours.”

He glared at her. Then, as he paged through the papers, he asked in a bland voice, “What would you change about yourself?” She looked at him in a quick glance. “If you have things to change, then we will go through this charade. Otherwise, we’ll stop here.”

She nodded slightly and her brow puckered in thought as she glanced up at him again. “Yes…. I would make changes.”

He glanced at her. “Why?”

“Because I must be beautiful and pleasing.” At his frown, she said softly. “If I cannot please you, then I will have nothing….”

He frowned. “What do you think will happen, girl?”

She shuddered, looking up at him fearfully. “What will you do to me?” She glanced down. “Will you set me on the street? Or-or-or sell me to someone who will?” She folded her hands nervously, wringing them. “I must be pleasing…or else…. What will I do? I don’t have anywhere to go!”

She looked up at him fearfully. He shook his head slightly. Flipping the pen in his hand, he started efficiently at the top. Truthfully, she wanted very little—or, it might be a lot considering the extremes that this place went to. She wanted to be thinner. She wanted to be able to talk. She wanted to be stronger. She wanted to be faster.

Hanzo smirked at that. Training would take care of that. He could easily…. He shook his head a little at his own wandering mind.

He put down the papers, making various notations. She looked at him curiously—questions burning in her eyes. When he flipped to the next page, his hand shook and finally he just put the papers down and turned them towards her.

“Can you read?”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded. “But I haven’t read anything in a long time.”

He flushed darker. “Can you read this?”

She glanced down, not touching anything. “Oh!” Her eyes crinkled and for a moment she smiled and then, glancing up at him suddenly her face went blank. “I suppose that….well, it’s your choice.” She cocked her head curiously. “I mean…your choice…. To have…a child.”

He frowned. The form only had “yes” or “no”. Assuming that whatever he chose was permanent, he marked, “yes”. There was a number of following questions, and he stumbled through them. He hadn’t ever considered such personal and feminine matters—just assumed that eventually he would marry and his wife would eventually have kids.

By the kami, this was suddenly very complicated. He was eventually going to have to settle her permanently somewhere somehow. And he would have to keep her at the estate, under wraps, for all the time that she was with him.

Genji would never let him hear the end of it.

After a discrete knock, Asahi came in, humming happily to himself. “Have you made some decisions, Honored Sir?”

“Indeed,” Hanzo nodded. He flicked the papers towards Asahi. The other man only smirked and took the pages up. He flipped through them, nodding to himself. His eyes lit up in amusement and he smiled secretly over the pages. “Is there something wrong?” Asahi only grinned at them and chuckled in response. “I believe that it is your claim that I can have anything that I want.”

“Of course, Honored Sir,” he smiled. “It will be precisely as you wish.” He set down the papers and stamped the top page with a carved jade block stamp. Then, he smiled again, picking up the ivory sheet of paper from its pocket and holding it up like a charm. “Now, shall we discuss this?”

Hanzo frowned, his eyes narrowing.

Asahi smirked, endlessly smiling. “I see that you recognize this…..” Hanzo nodded and the slender procurer kept smiling. 

Hanzo was about to make a sharp retort but then a soft growl sounded. They both stared at the woman, who was flushed purple and staring at her hands miserably. Hanzo smirked and turned back towards Asahi.

Asahi was, at last, frowning. It was the first time that Hanzo had seen the other man not smiling, and, judging by the miserable fear on the woman’s face, his displeasure was terrible indeed. The woman did not even look up but Hanzo could see her tremble ever so slightly.

Finally, Asahi looked back placidly at Hanzo. “It seems that this caterpillar is not yet worthy of her wings.” He gestured shortly. “If you would prefer a more…civilized…one, I will be happy to take this one back and show you the current stock—.”

“No,” Hanzo grunted. “This is the one that I want.”

Asahi finally looked at him and the little paper as though measuring its worth. His scowl was terrifying as he glanced at her, but when he looked at the paper in his slender fingers he seemed to reconsider whatever her was about to say or do. Finally, his humor seemed to be restored. “I can see that.”

“Just feed her,” Hanzo growled. “And nothing else!”

Asahi shrugged. “If that is your wish,” he smirked. “But we cannot have ill-mannered or rude caterpillars. I would highly suggest that she be…reminded of the good fortune of your favor in order to make her yet more beautiful.”

Hanzo frowned again. “She is beautiful now.”

“Of course,” Asahi agreed placidly. “And there is yet more that she could be.” He looked at one of his rings and the smooth round stone in it. “I would only suggest that a bit more time, a bit more polish, and she could be the spectacular butterfly of your dreams.” Asahi looked at her and the papers once more. “After all, there is much beauty not of the flesh, but of the submission, of the will.”

Hanzo sighed impatiently. “Just feed her.”

“And these few small…modifications?” He raised the papers. Then he gestured again and the woman rose silently and went to the door. “What if we discuss this quietly?”

Hanzo watched as she slid open the door. Another of the black robed servants was there, to take her steel cable leash and slide the door closed. The footsteps faded away. He looked at Asahi impatiently. “So what is the cost?”

Asahi snickered. “Oh, I believe that this is covered in the contract.” He spread the papers out, reiterating the selections—she was to be drug free, she was to be hale and healthy, she was to be given a long term birth control, but not sterile. Asahi again gestured to the pages, sighing theatrically, “But there are so many wonderful things that can be done! A thin waist that you can span with your hands? A lush, soft set of breasts to fill your palms? A bubble butt to slap? Perhaps hair that is blonde and down to her waist?” Hanzo felt his teeth aching as he locked his jaw. “Why don’t you tell me the approximate measurements and we work from there? The little caterpillars can be a bit, well, timid in wanting changes….”

“Anything you do could stop her from—.”

“Ahh yes, you want a child eventually,” Asahi nodded. “I saw that on the last page. How convenient! A ready-made heir without the entanglement of a political marriage.” He smiled again. “Very wise.”

Hanzo was about to retort that he didn’t want a child at all, but Asahi had satisfactorily explained things to himself and obviously wasn’t inclined to ask questions. Or allow a pause for comment.

Asahi pulled out the pen. “Of course, these can be done without…oh, shall we say, plastic surgery. A little hormonal cocktail and some nanites and she’s ready.” Hanzo grunted and Asahi pulled out a page to write notes. “So what measurements do you like?”

Hanzo sighed crossly, wanting only to be home. “Her figure is—!”

“Alas, unfinished,” Asahi wrote down some numbers. “This what I think we can reasonably accommodate without plastic.” He licked his lips. “She will be divine.”

“And can this be done—?”

“She will be able, when you are ready, to bear whatever children you wish,” Asahi promised. “Although with such a handful, I would suggest spending some time enjoying her.”

“Anything else?”

“Her eyes,” Hanzo said quickly. 

“Hmm?”

“Make them grey.”

“Ahh..gray like the storm.” Asahi nodded. “She will be beautiful with such startling silver eyes.”

“And don’t cut her hair.”

“Not a one. But could I assume that laser hair removal for her legs and those other necessary areas? Such a perfect jewel should not be less than perfectly cut.” Asahi looked at him with a smile, taking in his nod. “Of course—it avoids any less than perfect days that females seem to have.”

“And healthy enough—.”

“Healthy enough to bear a hundred children if you wish.”

“A hundred?” Hanzo chuffed out a stiff laugh.

“As many as you could wish,” Asahi nodded. With a smile, he tabbed up the costs and named a sum that would have been breathtaking to anyone else.

“And the initial price?” Hanzo snapped.

“We’ll…discuss it later.” Asahi folded the paper and put it in a pocket hidden by a fold of his kimono. “I must confess that I was not truly able to see such beauty and potential as you have seen in her.”

“She will be magnificent,” Hanzo parroted tonelessly.

“I must agree,” the first man sighed happily. “And your brother as well. Both of you are to be congratulated in such fine butterflies.”

They walked back to the front parlor, Asahi apparently content and smiling and Hanzo glaring. Black robed servants shuffled around them, cleaning up and doing whatever it was that needed to be done after an event like this.

Genji was lounging on the couch, the “green butterfly” half in his lap with her head on his chest and wrapped in Genji’s suit coat. She was fully asleep, sighing and a half smile playing on her lips. Genji was leaning back, his eyes hooded and somehow still giving the impression that not a single thing escaped his notice.

Hanzo grunted sharply, familiar with the half-sleep techniques that Genji was employing to allow his body to rest, but to remain alert in case of attack. Undoubtedly, Genji would be wakeful and ready to go home, but would want a few hours in private before training.

“And you, Honored Sir,” Asahi greeted cheerfully. “Is there nothing that we could do for your little butterfly?”

“She,” Genji replied softly in a firm, no nonsense voice. “Is already perfect for what I want.”

“Ahh,” the procurer smiled. “Is this true love at first sight?”

Genji grinned recklessly. “Perhaps. True lust at least.”

“I am so happy for you.”

Genji looked at his older brother’s strained face. He could look positively demonic if he was tired or had reached the end of his patience or if he was sick of someone he couldn’t directly kill and from his scowl, currently he was all three. “So, where is the little black butterfly?”

Asahi giggled carelessly. “She will stay with me a few weeks to get—.”

“Do you not have work to do?” Hanzo interrupted, glaring at Genji.

“Ahh,” Genji smiled. “My dear brother, reminding me of my duty.” He smirked down at the sleeping woman in his arms. “I have business and pleasure to attend to, yes.” He shot his brother a dry look. “Then I suppose that we will be returning.”

“In a few weeks. And should the Honored Sirs conceive of some toy or tool of training that they desire, or if you wish to expand your collection, then I must insist that you return and allow us to indulge you.”

“How long?” Hanzo snorted, pointedly turning away from Asahi and putting on his coat with deliberate movements.

“For the little black one? Three weeks is most generous, but if Honored Sir is…eager for such a priceless butterfly, then it can be accomplished in less time. Say, two weeks?”

“Three weeks,” Hanzo grunted.

“Then three weeks from tonight. If you would care to arrive before 6:30, then you will be before the auction crush. Unless you care to attend again?”

“No, I do not think so,” Hanzo snorted.

Genji nodded, scooping up his girl in his arms. She stirred briefly and glanced sleepily at the men before burying her face into his chest. The Shimada brothers were presented with their overcoats by nameless servants and the limousine was already parked outside, the door open and the engine running.

For some reason, Genji was mutinously silent during the ride home. There was a defiant glare in his eye as he looked at his brother and his arms wrapped protectively around the girl as she slept. It was unsettling that he was curled protectively as far as possible from Hanzo. Rolling his eyes, he closed his eyes against the raging headache and the ache in his jaw.

Predictably, Genji and the girl disappeared almost the instant that they stopped at the Shimada compound. Hanzo grunted and stalked through the shadowed hallways. It was entirely too late to be up for most folk, and paperwork was undoubtedly piling up on his desk, but after the needling of Genji and the grating laughter of Asahi he felt the need to simply go to the dojo and bury his aches into a workout, then a visit to the compound onsen and at last a deep sleep.

The workout was the explosive combination of almost impossible moves that he had created in his head. His technique was flawless, flowing like rainwater from one move to the next in a death defying series of leaps and falls. His bow seemed to float around him and between his hands as he fired arrow after arrow into the targets scattered around the room. The bamboo shafts shattered as arrows split and the feathers floated to the ground. Dark dots of sweat dropped to the smooth slate floor as his shadow flickered between pools of moonlight from the skylights.

The dragons erupted and flowed out into the space, roaring and spinning, and then Hanzo danced on them. It was no longer a mere kata, no longer a flawless routine, but instead it was a dance that ripped his mask away and his soul shone through.

Then, in a final explosive series of kicks, he spun to a panting stop with four arrows quivering in four targets in separate directions in the room. The dance was over, the pounding music of muscle and strength and kicks and punches and his own breathless shouts was over and he was kneeling in an empty stone walled room. The next sound was a soft pat of a drop of a thick bead of sweat hitting the floor.

Then there was a slow, lazy clap in the darkness. “You are improving, Brother.”

Hanzo snapped upright. Glaring at the lanky shadow of his brother in the dark corner, he grunted, “I did not expect to see you to so soon.” He raised a brotherly eyebrow and began unwrapping the heavy lengths of cloth from around his hand. “I thought that you would be with your little…butterfly.”

Genji stepped into a pool of light, dressed in his usual gray ghi pants, a random and irreverent t-shirt and his unfastened ghi jacket loose on his shoulders. “She is sleeping.” Genji glared at him. “What about your butterfly, Brother? Where is she?”

“She is….” Hanzo flushed angrily though he could not say precisely why. “It is not your concern.”

Genji rolled his shoulders and the sword strapped to his shoulders was suddenly cradled in his hands. He glared at Hanzo, looking at him with some mix of disdain and anger. “Did you welch on our bargain?”

Hanzo looked at his brother curiously. For a moment, Genji’s voice seemed to have some small half-note of relief with that accusation. He glared at his brother’s dark, accusing eyes. “I would never do something so dishonorable as renege on an agreement.”

“So you did buy her,” Genji said with a distinct note of satisfaction. Then he turned stormy again. “But where is she?” His eyes turned hard as stone. “Don’t tell me—!”

“Tell you what?!” Hanzo growled at his brother.

Genji blanched, his face growing pale and his eyes burning like coals with fury. “What …what are you doing?”

“Nothing except arguing with you,” Hanzo growled.

“What about her? Doesn’t she mean anything?”

“Your butterfly?!” Hanzo sneered. “She does not mean anything to me except as a means to get you to do your duty.”

“No! Yours!” Genji toyed with the scabbard angrily. “What the hell are you doing?!” He paced around angrily. “When I said to get a girl to have some fun with, I never anticipated that you were…. By the ancestors, you really meant it—you’re getting her overhauled like last year’s car.” Genji snarled, “I never imagined that you’d—! I can’t bear to look at you.”

“You drug me into this!” Hanzo roared angrily him. “What the hell did you think I was going to do?!”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Genji spat. “You disgust me, brother.”

“Why? For doing exactly what you did?!”

“I didn't do anything to her! I brought her home and that’s it.” Genji growled low in his throat. “Whatever the hell you are doing to your butterfly….” He cursed fluently. “No—she is a woman and doesn’t deserve to have anything like that happen to her.”

Hanzo roared and his dragons sprang to life, punching through the air and glowing in anger to obliterate his target. Of course, it was Genji they were flying towards and the dragons turned aside at the last moment.

“You don’t deserve her or any woman,” Genji whispered. “Not if you can’t accept them as they are.” Hanzo growled again. “I can’t believe you.”

Hanzo whipped around to leave. “I do not know who you are. You know how important duty is. You know what we do and how we do it. We are the most feared and powerful clan in Japan and you are going to destroy it all if you do not start acting like a proper Shimada.”

Genji growled, throwing a dagger just over Hanzo’s shoulder and into the doorway beyond. “I may be your younger brother and you may be in charge of the Shimada clan, but you aren’t king of the world. You aren’t a shogun issuing orders to the peasants.”

Hanzo paused, staring blindly at the knife in the doorway. A few inches over and it was debatable whether or not even the dragons could have saved him.

Genji sighed. “Brother…. Do you remember? Do you remember how when we were kids, we talked?” Hanzo said nothing, his broad shoulders rolling. “We talked about how we knew this was wrong. We knew that the…the drugs and the weapons and the deals…. We knew then that they were all dirty. That we hurt people.

“Don’t you remember? We would go to the alleys and play with the other kids—those kids who lived in those shelters. We’d go and play with them and we’d all pretend that we were a big family eating mizu yokan for New Year’s celebration. You’d be the daddy and little Yui would be a mommy and me and the rest of the kids were all aunts and uncles to Ichika and her doll. And we’d sit there, all in the back alley with pieces of cardboard for plates and boxes and paper cups of nothing pretending to be celebrating the New Year with a big family….”

“I remember, Genji.”

“And don’t you remember that it was always fun, chomping at the air and telling Yui that these were the best sweets and noodles? How everyone talked to Ichika and tucked in the dolly?”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember? Do you remember how Yui’s mother got so sick? That she was hooked on heroine and strung out all the time. That Yui always hung on to you because she thought that the moon and sun rose at your command because she was so scared to go home? She was scared that her mother might be seeing horrible things and start chopping at everything with a knife again?”

“I remember,” Hanzo sighed. “I…remember Yui.”

“And how Ichika disappeared? Do you remember what happened to Ichika?” Genji’s voice broke even though Hanzo didn’t say a word. “Ichika was sold to one of those places. A smooth piece of shit like Asahi told her parents that he’d pay off their drug debts and get them out of the gangs. And that crap took Ichika and we never saw her…until—.”

Hanzo swallowed, his throat closing. They hadn’t seen Ichika again until years and years later and the Crystal Phoenix gang decided to hold up a Shimada shipment of weapons. The usual crossfire of weapons happened and, when the dust cleared, he almost hadn’t recognized Ichika’s ravaged, bruised and battered body with it’s harsh tattoo branding her a Crystal Phoenix and the damning bruises and scars showing months, if not years, of hard drug use.

Genji’s voice was softer, almost as though it were bruised. “And Aiko? How a prostitute gave him AIDS? How he tried for weeks and weeks and just got sicker and sicker? Or Yoshi and how he got caught in the crossfire and we didn't know we were firing at him until the news report the next day?”

“Get to the point, Genji!”

“I am!” Genji's voice snarled. “Do you remember that night? How we swore that we didn’t want anyone to hurt like we hurt we found every one of them?

“Do you remember, Hanzo? We looked around at the Shimada clan and we decided that we’d stop this. We were going to stop this madness. We were going to get to the top. We were going to take this apart from the inside. We were going to go straight and we were going to stop the drugs and crime and prostitution and the deals and the weapons. We were going to stop all of this!”

Hanzo growled. “You know that I remember all this.”

“What happened to that, Hanzo?” Genji cried out. “What happened to my older brother who was going to get to the top, no matter what, and then rip the Shimada clan down to the ground?”

“Do you have a point, Genji? Things change. Things are different now.”

“Things are…different?” Genji gaped. “How can things be that…different?”

“We grew up, Genji. This is an international organization. We—.”

“We are criminals. We aren’t on the good side of this.” Genji puffed out a breath.

“And we would be dead in a heartbeat if we did anything else.”

“Everything we do hurts people. From the weapons to the drugs to everything else.” Genji frowned. “It hurts everything and everyone like…like a cancer rips apart a body.”

Hanzo finally turned around and looked at Genji. Genji’s eyes were glistening bright. “It does not matter if we try to do anything. Nothing will change.”

“So you’re going to get richer and richer and dirtier and dirtier and just shrug and say nothing will change?!” Genji’s stance dropped abruptly, his eyes narrowing and the sword singing out of its sheath. “You are just..just another Shimada. Just another dirty, criminal Shimada thug.”

“I am not!” Hanzo growled. “I am not some filthy street thug.”

“No…you’re worse,” Genji howled back. “You don’t care about anything. Or anybody.” He grunted. Looking at his brother with disgust, he sheathed his sword and turned away.

“I…I care about you, brother.”

“Oh? And why is that? Because I’m another Shimada? Because I’m your brother?” Genji looked over his shoulder. “Because I’m a really good ninja and can accomplish what others can’t?”

“You are my brother. I cherish you.”

Genji sighed. “I didn’t come to fight my brother. I came to tell you that I need to move my office to the other side of the building for a few weeks.” Hanzo grunted. “My girl is….” He whirled around and faced Hanzo. “She…She’s fourteen. Just fourteen and has been through hell. She is…she’s going to be sick—.”

“Withdrawal, Genji.” Hanzo puffed out some air. “It is called ‘withdrawal’.”

“Yeah, while your buddy Asahi and you were going over your sexual wish list, I was talking to Mai—.”

“Mai?”

“The ‘green butterfly’. You might remember her. She’s the fourteen year old who got sold to Asahi who came home with us tonight.” Genji’s voice growled. “She’s been given enough drugs to drop a horse and is going to need a few weeks to clean up.”

“Then what?” Hanzo growled back. “What are you and Mai going to do then?”

“I…She’s going to…to….”

“You do not know.” Hanzo looked at Genji with disdain. “You do not know what you are going to do next. You do not know what to do without the Shimada organization supporting you parties and your clothes and your cars.” He frowned at Genji’s back. “You need the organization.

“What are you going to do without us, Genji? You do not have money on your own. You do not have any skills that anyone else wants. Are you going to chop vegetables at a restaurant with that sword?

“Genji, you can spout all day about how you want to change the world and how you are going to remake it in your image of what is right and wrong. But you are going to go nowhere and do nothing without the money that I make in this organization.” Genji opened his mouth helplessly. “I made the money for your sword, for your clothes, for this house…even for Mai. I did it moving all dirty money and weapons and drugs that you have decided you want to take apart.

“So what are you going to do, Genji? If you do anything, you are going to face the full fury of the Shimada clan. If you turn against me, then you turn against all of us.”

“Good to know the odds.” Genji stared at his sword. “At least then I won’t be surprised.”

“You will face every single one of the Shimada. The police and Interpol won’t even get a chance at your carcass. Every single Shimada will hunt your scent, no matter where you think you can go and wherever you think you can hide.” Genji was silent. “And Mai will be the first hit. She will be the very first on your line for destruction. Do you think anyone will stop for her? Just to get to you, do you think that a single one of the Bell Crickets, the Shimada, the Ice Foxes or the police will stop at anything to get to you?”

Hanzo turned away again, tossed a look over his shoulder. “Good evening to you and your butterfly—Mai.”

Genji looked at him sourly. “I would wish you and yours a good evening—only someone left her behind.”

The next morning their father summoned them both for breakfast. Hanzo smiled stiffly as the older man began his normal lecture of How To Run The Shimada Clan, wondering where his younger brother was as the servants tended them and the empty chair at the table.

“Where is your younger brother, Hanzo?” his father asked sharply.

“He…he is—,” Hanzo began.

“He is likely still asleep,” his father interrupted. “You should take him in hand while there is still time to mold him into a proper Shimada.”

A servant came in with fresh hot tea. “Master Genji is just waking up. He sends his regrets.”

Hanzo sighed, not entirely unsurprised. “Where is my brother now?”

“He is in his office,” the servant muttered. “Do you want me to fetch him?”

Hanzo glanced at his father’s face. The older man seemed to—for a moment—be surprised. Then he shook his head. “I will go to his office instead. There are a few things we need to discuss.”

His father grunted. “I suppose that you’re off as well? Does no one have time to pay proper respect?”

Hanzo wiped his mouth on the thick linen napkin. “With all due respect, I will go to my own office and continue your legacy of hard work and advancing the Shimada clan.”

Just as the servant said, Genji was in the office and on his cell phone. Hanzo felt somewhat relieved with that concession, although his casual attire—his coat tossed carelessly over a chair along with his tie and his shirt sleeves most casually folded up above his elbow and the top few buttons undone—left much to be desired.

Hanzo dropped a short, shallow bow in greeting. “Good morning, Genji.” He looked around. Somehow the office seemed to breathe chaos as papers were stacked haphazardly all over the place. There was a slightly irreverent dartboard on a wall with several small throwing knives in it, opposite the tasteful abstract oil painting on the opposite wall. “It is nice to see you up so early. But do you have to be…undressed?”

Genji glared up at him with dry and bloodshot eyes. He covered the mouthpiece of his phone. “Did you need me?” Hanzo gestured for him to continue his call. “Tell you what, I’ll call you back.” He tossed the phone on the desk. “So, what do I owe the honor of your visit? I’m about to leave to collect the protection money from the far eastern side.”

“Not looking like that,” Hanzo gritted out. Picking up the tie, he yanked up his brother’s collar and fastened the top buttons. “At least pretend that you care about your image.”

Genji snatched the tie out of his brother’s grasp and settled it around his neck. “I got it.” Folding down the collar smoothly, he began fastening his sleeves. “You don’t need to stand over me like a mother goose.”

Hanzo folded his arms impatiently. “So where were you during breakfast?”

Genji grimaced, clumsily trying to get the buttons on his wrist fastened. “I got something here.”

Hanzo looked over at the desk. There was a cold cup of tea and a plate with half a doughnut on it. “I see.” He felt a small smile on his mouth. “But….”

“But nothing,” Genji snapped. His other cufflink was…somewhere, right? “I’m here. I’m working. I’m getting ready to go out and continue working.”

“You know that if you simply wore them, you would not be missing your cufflink when it was time to go out?” Hanzo asked placidly. “And how is your butterfly this morning?”

“Mai,” Genji corrected, shifting a pile of papers aside only to have them fall over. “Her name is ‘Mai’.”

“Mai,” Hanzo murmured, as though tasting it on his tongue. “What prompted that name?”

“Because that’s her name, Han,” Genji snapped as his cell phone buzzed again.

“I thought you preferred ‘Bambi’ or ‘Tina’ or…,” he shuddered. “‘Nicole’.”

“Nicole was a perfectly lovely girl,” Genji grumbled, pocketing the cell phone. “And Mai was her name before Asahi even got involved.”

Hanzo shrugged. “I suppose it’s a nice enough name.” He looked on as his younger brother shuffled some more papers around and finally found his missing cufflink. “So…why her? What was so special about her?”

Genji slipped the cufflink in and went to pick up his jacket. He shrugged into it carelessly. “What was so special about yours?”

Hanzo looked at him curiously. “I…I suppose to each his own. It is—.” He paused. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.”

“Yui,” Genji said suddenly. “Mai looks like Yui.”

Hanzo sighed out a breath. “So that is what has been going on.” He smiled in patronizing understanding as Genji looked at him in confusion. “That is why you have insisted on bringing up—.”

“Don’t even say it,” Genji hissed as he plucked some keys out from under a motley collection of pens, thin knives, two gun clips and two address books. “It’s just…. I felt sorry for her. Yui was about her age the last time we saw her alive.” Genji's hands curled into fists unconsciously. “I couldn’t save her. We couldn’t save any of them….”

Hanzo said nothing. Only watched his brother leave. It was a bit of a relief to know what maggot had been chewing Genji’s thoughts. At least now, he was better prepared to deal with the younger man. He went back to his office thoughtfully. At noon, he was relieved to see Genji was back in his office, tapping keys and listening to his cell phone.

He had barely gotten to his own desk when a servant came in with a tray for his lunch. Hanzo nodded, taking a call. The servant fluttered around, fiddling with the napkin and pouring the tea.

Covering the phone, he glared at the hapless inferior and whispered harshly, “Is there something wrong?”

“Master Genji, sir,” the servant whispered in return, mindful of the phone. “He is no longer in his office.”

Hanzo puffed out a breath. Didn’t that just figure? He couldn’t keep it up a full day. “In a moment. I will deal with him after this call.”

But by the time he was done, the servant was back with a completely unnecessary fresh cup of tea. “I’m sorry, Master. He is back. Perhaps—.”

“Perhaps you just missed him,” Hanzo grunted.

“I will keep an eye on his office, if you like?”

Hanzo looked at the cold lunch. Somehow the chicken and broccoli didn’t seem so appealing now that it was, at best, lukewarm. “If you must.”

“I will be happy to tell you when he….”

Hanzo sighed. Just what he needed—a spy inside the estate. Rolling his eyes slightly, he nodded. “Just text me.”

The servant nodded nervously, bowing repeatedly. “Of course, Master Hanzo. Whatever you say.”

Hanzo grunted, dismissing both the servant and the problem from his mind. If anyone was that worried about Genji coming and going, they could deal with it. Unfortunately, about an hour and a half later, there began a series of texts:

“1:25 - Master Genji is missing. His assistant doesn’t know where he is.”

“2:49 - He has returned to the office. His assistant still doesn’t know where he went.”

“3:17 - He received a call and left again.”

“4:09 - He has returned. No explanation.”

“5:02 - He told his assistant he was getting dinner in his apartment.”

“5:49 - Returned.”

“6:43 - Told his assistant to mind his own business.”

Hanzo grunted shortly. His own day—11 plus hours by his own count—was shortly going to be finished, in time for dinner and a quiet workout in the dojo. He set the last of his papers in their folder and locking the folder in his desk drawer. He logged out of his computer, folded up the charging cord neatly and tucked them in their leather bag.

The servant came bustling in again, holding yet another cup of hot tea. Hanzo grunted and was about to wave him away when the nervous man spoke, “Master Genji has…a message for you.”

“Oh?”

The servant bowed anxiously. “Yes, Master Hanzo. He said…that if you wanted to know what he was doing, then you should ask him.”

Hanzo couldn’t help but laugh at Genji’s impertinence. “That does sound like Genji.” He waved at the man. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes, sir, Master Hanzo. He said he was going to go collect the money tonight and to not worry about it. That he…regrets his absences but they was unavoidable.” The servant looked at Hanzo with confusion. “He said that…his butterfly needed his attention.” The servant looked confused and then shrugged a little in confusion. “He said that you would understand.”

Hanzo sighed and nodded. “I do. Thank you.”

The servant smiled nervously setting the cup down only to pick it back up again. “Will…will there be anything else, Master Hanzo?”

“No,” Hanzo sighed, reaching for his cell phone. “That is all. Good evening.”

The servant bowed out, taking the cup of tea with him. Hanzo grunted, looking over the office again. The papers were locked up, the books neatly in their shelves, all of the electronics shut down and neatly stashed. Hanzo couldn’t resist one more task—texting his brother. “Where are you?”

“@ the office. U?”

“I am getting ready to go to the dojo.”

“Nice. <3”

Hanzo chuckled wryly. “And you?”

“On the clock 2 8:34 tonight. At least.”

“So late?” Hanzo snorted at his phone in the empty office. “Busy day?”

“Mai needed help. Detox sux.” A pause. “She needed me, Han.” Another pause. “Can’t wait to see how you do.”

Hanzo shook his head a little wearily. “Anything I can do?”

“Just time. Breaks for her. Will do my part—just need time.” Hanzo was about to put away the phone when another text came in with a merry chirp. 

“Don’t spy on me. If you want to know, come ask.”

Things were tense and silent the next day and the next. True to his word, after his office was moved, Genji was diligent about putting in exactly 8 hours working a day. It wasn’t all at once—the servants and attendants were faithful about reporting his movements—because he was called to his apartments many times a day to soothe the girl that no one else was allowed to tend—but it was at least 8.

Genji’s parties and reckless ways were curtailed as well. He went to work and to his apartments. Every email and meeting was attended to swiftly and curtly. Hanzo was somewhat soothed as Genji seemed to finally be settling down. Even the elders and rank and file of the Shimada clan were starting to unite and believe that Genji and Hanzo were living up to their expectations.

Then, several weeks later, Hanzo was nursing a lovely ceramic mug of hot, sweet green tea and a fresh, hot sata andagi over a thick parcel of papers for a new company he was going to purchase when his phone rang.

“Hai.” His voice was smooth and deep, relaxed.

“Honored Sir,” Asahi’s voice sing-song floated over the line.

“Asahi-san,” Hanzo grunted. “What do you want? Another auction?”

Asahi laughed shortly. “Why, Honored Sir, I had no idea that you were so interested in expanding your collection of butterflies! If you wish to attend another auction, you need only tell me.” He let a little laugh escape and instantly Hanzo felt his teeth clench. “I only wanted to inform you that your little butterfly is at last ready.”

Hanzo blinked a little. Had really three weeks passed so swiftly? He checked his calendar and, in fact four and a half weeks had passed. “Really?”

“Hmm…. Indeed, Honored Sir.” Asahi let out a breathless giggle. “And may I say that such a beautiful butterfly has never before graced my house. You would not believe the wonder—but I forget myself. If we may arrange a meeting?”

“Tonight?”

“As you wish, of course. At any point, you are welcome to come to my house.”

“I will see you—,” Hanzo heard a knock a the door and grunted, hearing someone slide the door open. “—at eight o’clock to pick her up.” Hanzo’s eyes flicked up and he saw Genji—proud and wounded and weary—standing in front of his desk. Genji’s eyes glittered with something that Hanzo could not name and he missed whatever Asahi simpered on about. He told Asahi good-bye and then hung up.

Genji stared at him silently. And Hanzo sighed, “What do you want, Genji?”

“You’re going back to get her?” At Hanzo’s short nod, he puffed out some air. “At least that is good.”

“Good?” Hanzo smirked. “My thanks for your approval.”

“Smart ass.”

“Why is it so important to you anyway?”

“You aren’t going to leave her there.” He frowned as he glanced at his cell phone. “I’ll tell Mai and go with you.”

“You will go tell Mai?” Hanzo frowned. “Is it wise to tell a—?”

“Don’t even say it,” Genji growled.

“It cannot be wise to tell a prostitute everything,” Hanzo protested. “Besides, I am hardly a child to be led about by the hand.”

“I can’t wait. She’ll be done with dinner then,” Genji continued. His eyes twinkled, but not with mirth. “I can be here at 7:30.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Do not—.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this,” Genji smirked sadly. “Besides, I’ve got to go.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see exactly what kind of woman is the woman of your fantasies.”

So, at 7:30 Hanzo neatly put his folders and papers away, shut down his computer, locked his drawers and got his coat. Genji was in the hallway, in a neat silver pinstripe suit. They walked out to the driveway and the waiting car.

Genji slid in and cocked his gun.

“Expecting trouble?” Hanzo asked.

“No,” Genji lied. Even Hanzo knew he was lying. Sighing, he pulled out a discrete gun and tucked it into his shoulder holster. But then Genji caught his eye and shrugged. “But I am thinking that you’re in trouble.”

They drove up to the house without comment. The same formal butler opened up the door and Hanzo couldn’t help but notice that Genji was immediately tense. They were escorted to the front salon and left as the butler went into the back to get Asahi.

“So what happens next?” Hanzo rumbled.

“Don’t know. I told them I didn’t want them to touch Mai and that I’d start shooting if they did. I had Kiko watch over her at the weird double-decker tables and snatched her while you were dickering with Asahi.”

Just then, Asahi burst in with white and silver kimono. “Forgive me for not being here the moment you arrived. There was a lovely little caterpillar who needed a bit of extra encouragement to succeed.” He smiled and folded his hands dramatically. “And of course, Mister Shimada, your lovely butterfly is absolutely adorable.”

Hanzo only raised an eyebrow and settled in the patient, stoic posture that people generally reserve for waiting out temper tantrums. He used silence as a weapon as surely as the thin, razor sharp knives that he had tucked in wrist sheaths underneath the several hundred yen tailored shirt and the multi-thousand yen suit. Genji also settled in to wait, smirking as his brother’s overpowering personality filled the entire room.

Asahi obviously didn’t have the same understanding and simply giggled. Then, with what appeared to be a happy sigh, he smiled and began again, “I do not believe that such a lovely butterfly has graced my halls in some time.” He gestured towards the interior gardens. “If you will come with me, Honored Sir, then we will go forward with our celebrations.”

Hanzo waited a long moment, allowing silence to keep Asahi slightly uncomfortable. Then, ever so slightly, he nodded stiffly. Asahi grinned and turned away slightly and Genji and Hanzo both moved forward. Asahi’s eyes widened at the unblinking and direct stares of the brothers, before he shrugged and led them both through.

Asahi stopped at the room with the marble stage. With a theatrical pursing of the lips, he sing-songed, “Only one at a time, Honored Sir.” Genji glanced inside at the empty room and its plain furniture of cushions, the single low table and the marble square glowing in the spotlight. He nodded shortly at Hanzo who walked in, before lounging against the door. “If you please, Sir.”

Hanzo knelt on one cushion, watching as Asahi fussed with his robes and knelt. The slender man opened his lips and Hanzo interrupted shortly, “Where is she?”

Asahi put his hands into his sleeves and then pulled them out. “Just a moment, Honored Sir.” He paused. “She is walking down the hall as we speak.”

A squeak of the floorboards sounded almost musically and within a moment, Genji opened the door. Hanzo noted the slight flush to his brother's cheeks and how his eyes were studiously downcast, looking away from her. Then, with a quick glance to Hanzo, he closed the door.

Somehow the little black butterfly was almost unrecognizable to Hanzo. Her curves were amazing, her breasts full and flawless globes. Her waist was tapered in to make a man’s mouth water and flowed into beautiful hips. Her hair was clean and silky and shiny and her long fingers were tipped with shiny nails with a clear varnish. With those high-heeled sandals, her legs seemed endlessly long and her skin was like buffed porcelain.

Hanzo took a deep breath in his belly, clearing his head of cobwebs, as she stepped up on top of the marble square and into the unforgiving brilliance of the spotlight. With slight gestures, Asahi had her slowly turn, showing every inch of her skin. With every posture and move, Asahi showed off her beauty. Hanzo wanted, desperately, to touch her skin to see if it was actually as polished as it looked, but instead, he allowed Asahi to continue the show.

Finally, the girl was allowed to stop. A light sweat glistened on her skin. Asahi was still trilling on and finally Hanzo was finally listening, “—and I believe that you can see how she glows now.” He smirked. “And the black butterfly is now ready fly to…your arms.”

Hanzo did not allow the slightest crack in his expression or posture. Instead, he just looked her over as she stood in the spotlight. So far so good—she had no obvious bruises or scratches. She had been responsive to Asahi’s signals—whether they were hand gestures or trigger words. Her hair was clean and glistened in the harsh light. For the moment, she seemed to be in good health and free of the grip of whatever drugs she might have been given.

He grunted and said, “Show me her eyes, Asahi.”

“Ahh…yes, you did request gray eyes. Little butterfly, you may raise your eyes now.”

Hanzo studied her carefully. Her eyes were now clearly gray, a pale gray that reminded him of storm clouds. Somehow, despite all of Asahi’s training and whatever she had been through, her eyes sparkled slightly. There still was something in them—a question or a desire that he wanted to answer—but, they were clear and met his own gaze without the slightest trace of drugs.

Hanzo paused again, stone faced, and then finally snapped and pointed to the third cushion. She glanced at Asahi and then at his slight nod, she glided off the marble and to the cushion. Her cheeks flushed slightly, glancing up at him with a crackle of chagrin as she knelt, folded her hands on her thighs and dipped her head modestly.

Hanzo finally looked back at Asahi with a slight nod.

Asahi nodded slightly in return. He tucked his hand inside his sleeves again and nodded in return. “And you are at last pleased?” Hanzo nodded. “How wonderful. You have a truly beautiful butterfly.” He smiled as Genji slid open the door and a black robed figure brought in a shiny black-lacquered tray with an unopened bottle of high-end tequila next to a tumbler filled with ice and a carafe of sake with a tiny, thimble sized cup. A small bowl held narrow wedges of limes and lemons. As swiftly as the figure appeared in the door, the tray was set on the corner of the table and then the figure retreated.

Asahi pulled out a pile of papers and a leather folder. “Let us take care of the uncomfortable bits and then, have a happy drink to new the new butterfly.”

The papers were prosaic—a list of codes and brief, 80 character explanations and then a number. There was a line item of a “SHMD discount - 15%” and it took off the correct amount, undercutting Asahi’s initial figure by a few thousand yen.

“All of the paperwork appears to be in order, Honored Sir,” Asahi smiled. “If you would care to explain how you intend to—.”

“Butterfly,” Hanzo snapped. “Go to the door and tell Genji to bring in the suitcase.”

The woman rose quickly and went to the door. She knocked softly and Genji opened up almost immediately. She spoke softly and Genji nodded, glancing at Hanzo before going out. She closed the door gently and then returned to her position on the cushion.

Asahi was content to wait for once in silence, only pulling out yet another one of his carved fans to begin waving it back and forth gently. After a few minutes, Genji knocked sharply and then entered a second later with a heavy metal suitcase. With a graceful flourish, he moved to the corner of the table opposite the drink tray, set the suitcase on the table and then opened it. Asahi’s eyes widened slightly and his fan fluttered in his hand as the bearer bonds were displayed in the suitcase.

“I believe that you will find the full amount here,” Hanzo said softly.

Asahi smiled and glanced over the bonds. “I do believe that you are correct, Honored Sir.”

Genji closed the case, snapped the locks closed and stood over the case. Hanzo looked at the paperwork patiently. Asahi smiled and turned to the last page. Pulling out the carbon copy papers that looked on the surface like a standard sales contract for what was listed as a “Exotic Butterfly - Custom Display + Appearance/Mount” and boilerplate legalese listing Asahi Yamato as the seller and Hanzo Shimada as the buyer. The price was listed on the bottom and Asahi signed with a flourish. Hanzo signed in a firm, spare hand and as Hanzo spun it around back to Asahi, Genji pulled a key out of a hidden pocket and tossed it on top of the contract.

“How marvelous to do business with such discerning and discrete gentlemen,” Asahi smiled. “Shall we have that drink? I believe that we need another sake cup.” Without waiting for an answer, he waved his fingers and the dark haired woman stood and quietly slipped out. Within a credible three minutes, another tiny cup for sake appeared. “Why don’t you pour, little butterfly? Your collector will have the Casa Dragones, I believe.”

Her hands drifted over the bottle and she wrapped her fingers uncertainly around the neck of the bottle. She bit her lip adorably as she wrestled with the tight silver top. It freed itself with a loud pop and she let out a little squeak at the sound. Asahi shot a half second glare at her, but shrugged as she began pouring into the prepared tumbler. She slid it in front of Hanzo with a half smile that echoed Asahi’s expression. Then, with more confidence, she poured the sake with what was apparently the expected grace and slid it in front of Genji.

Genji shot her a smile, but refused to take it. She paused, with an uncertain moue, flicking a glance up at the younger brother. He kept his stance, watching things carefully and shook his head slightly.

She nodded slightly and then poured sake again, sliding it in front of Asahi. He looked at her distantly, his smile not wavering. Replacing the carafe, she knelt again, but not before catching Hanzo’s gaze for a fraction of a second—gray meeting chocolate.

Asahi reached for his sake cup, and then looked at the brothers. “Would you care for some other drink?”

“Genji is…,” Hanzo started.

Asahi was already nodding and smiling. “Of course, he’s working. And you?”

Hanzo pushed the drink towards the woman. “Why not let her have a taste?”

Asahi’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Spoiling the little butterfly, already?”

Genji snorted. “Testing for poison.” He nodded at the woman. “Drink up. Then take a piece of ice and suck on it.”

She took the cup as Genji ordered, her gaze flickering again at Hanzo for his nod of approval. After only a few hesitant swallows, she finished the tequila. With timid fingers, she pulled out a piece of ice and sucked on it for a few moments. Then she set the glass down again.

“Now pour a drink for your collector, you silly thing,” Asahi giggled. “Before he simply perishes from thirst.”

She nodded and poured again, sliding it in front of Hanzo. He frowned slightly and the little glance she had given him with a tiny grin suddenly flattened nervously as she pulled back to her cushion.

“To a most exacting and discerning collector,” Asahi smiled, toasting with his sake. Hanzo picked up the tumbler, regretting his order at the auction since obviously that was now his “regular drink”, and tipped it slightly towards Asahi. With flare, Asahi took a sip, watching with as Hanzo sipped the tequila. “It is always a pleasure to conclude such business.”

His hands reached out to the key and, with Genji and Hanzo both silent, he slid it into whatever pocket he had up his sleeve. He smiled again, his eyes cat-like, and passed the leather portfolio to Genji. “Again, I am honored, Sir.” With a little smirk, he took the handle of the suitcase and everyone stood, except for the kneeling woman. “But, alas, we are busy. A new collection of caterpillars takes so much time to have them blossom into butterflies.”

Asahi gave a little bow and then glided out of the room. Genji’s eyes followed him with suspicion, while Hanzo only grunted again. Hanzo puffed out some air and turned to the door, exchanging a curious look with his brother.

“So are you going to actually take her home with us?” Genji smirked as he handed his older brother the portfolio. “Or just leave her on her knees here?” Hanzo started and jerked to look at him. “Take it from me, she’s not a mind reader and she’ll take you literally on anything that you say.”

Hanzo sighed shortly, closing his eyes as he felt a headache forming. “Stand up, Female.”

She stood up hesitantly, closing her eyes and shaking her head a bit. Genji smirked, and said, “I don’t think your butterfly is used to tequila.”

“Just follow me,” Hanzo ordered shortly, his hand gesturing angrily.

She was silent as she followed him through the building and it wasn't until Genji coughed hesitantly that Hanzo realized—belatedly—that she was not exactly dressed to go outside. He stood for a moment and she lowered her eyes at his hard gaze. With a grunt, he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, which caused Genji to nod his approval.

Peculiarly, as she stood in the vestibule wrapped twice over in his suit coat like a tiny child playing dress up in her father’s clothes, she didn’t have the slightest reaction to being naked or clothed. When he turned to face her and the hand tooled shoulder holster gleamed in the light with the mother of pearl stock of his gun shimmering like a beacon, she only glanced at it without any sort of indication of judgement or slightest flicker on her placid face.

Hanzo’s Adam's apple bobbed uncertainly at her cool gaze. He was used to women watching him—from terrified gang whores to various family of “business associates” to the eager barracudas who trawled for wealthy men to show them a good time to the casual double takes from women on the street. He had seen every feminine reaction from ravenous lust to the coolly feigned interest to fear and everything in between.

But this was…no reaction at all. She stood there wrapped in his coat and paying polite attention to him. She didn’t blush or try to cover herself with her hands. She didn’t giggle nervously or flinch and stare at the gun in fear. She didn’t even look at Genji. He was prepared for just about any reaction that anyone else had given him and none of those shown on her face. The only thing that she showed was a slightly anxious look when he frowned.

“Shall we go?” Genji smirked.

She didn’t turn. She didn’t nod or shake her head. She didn’t even seemed to have heard him. She was not even paying attention to anyone else in the room—even when the butler came through silently to stand by the front door.

Hanzo swallowed heavily and then turned to go. The girl followed silently, watching him with a persistence and thoroughness he found a little intimidating. He could barely hear her shoes tapping on the smooth stones of the driveway. The bodyguard held open the door for him and the driver held open the opposite door for Genji. The girl trailed behind him, to the amusement of the big man at the door. Hanzo forgot her for a moment and was about to slam the door himself when he caught another glimpse of her. Grunting, he slid over and, after another awkward moment, patted the seat.

She slid in quietly, staring at her hands as the car rumbled out of the driveway. Genji lounged in the corner, watching them with a grin on his face that seemed to be ready to break into a sarcastic smile. Hanzo looked over at his brother and frowned slightly, not feeling the slightest amusement. He was about to give the girl one of his usual, trite excuses that he offered whenever Genji was being irritating or embarrassing, but then he saw that the coat had gaped open, offering a shadowed view of her breasts.

“Cover yourself,” he grunted at her.

That startled her. She looked up at him strangely, curiously, as though she were puzzling out what he had just said. Then, with a silent nod, her slender hand slid out of the long sleeves and clutched the lapels closer to her.

The Shimada estate’s stately drive through closely cropped lawn and past spotlit trees failed to soothe Hanzo. Genji handed him the portfolio without further comment, just a sarcastic smile, and went to his apartments silently. Hanzo felt his headache spreading. Grunting, he led the girl to his apartments and shoved her inside. Lacking a better idea, he locked her inside the apartment, and went to his office.

Several hours later, he had cleared his pile of paperwork and had issued all of the necessary orders—collecting protection money, finding the few rogues and snitches that dared cross him, called his contacts for various favors, and delegated a few tasks to Genji. He was too efficient for the backlog of work to take him more than a few hours.

Which left the leather portfolio on his desk. He stared at it. It was a plain brown leather thing, with not the slightest hint of what it contained. He was almost afraid to ask—would it be some kind of lurid advertisement for Asahi’s peculiar services or a catalogue of other caterpillars or some kind of paperwork on what he could do?

But morbid curiosity was a luxury he did not allow himself often and there was not any reason that he couldn’t look through it. So, with a cup of really hot tea at his elbow, he opened it, resolving to burn it if it was some kind of advertising gimmick.

But, instead it was a series of pictures of his…butterfly. One was a picture right at the auction with the silly lacy outfit in black. There was a printout of her “Initial Measurements”, along with a picture of her, again nude, against a grid showing her measurements. Then there was a series of her in various poses, highlighting her “training”. A flamboyant font printed out what was supposed to be catchy captions—“See how she strains at the ropes” and “Butterfly’s Butt”—and small cards with what appeared to be grades on every individual fetish he could readily think of. Interspersed with these were reappearances of her against the grid, where he could clearly see her curves becoming more generous and lovely. There was even a pair of close ups of her face, where he could see her eyes before and after whatever it was Asahi did.

He could not remember the office being so hot. Or so dry. He supposed that it was the air conditioning so that the computers were okay. He took a deep drink of tea, hoping it would clear up the lump in his throat. The last photos were breathtaking as she posed in what amounted to straps of leather and a lacy mask.

Flushed and annoyed at the unwelcome response to the photos, he closed up his office and stalked down the halls towards his apartments. Sighing, he told himself that he needed this reminder to maintain zanshin—a mind that was calm, at peace, and ready. This was, in fact, not an inconvenience, it was, instead, a timely reminder that he needed to be constantly vigilant and mindful of his own weaknesses.

Considerably calmed with that realization, he walked into the apartments with almost a grin on his lips. His apartments were an oasis of calm—soothing slate blue walls, austere examples of calligraphy on the walls, the furniture in the Japanese style precisely placed to in accordance with feng-shui to grant him peace and good luck.

He peeled off the leather holsters and walked to the weapons safe in the immense closet in his sitting room. This was simply the universe attending to his benefit. He opened up the safe and slid the weapons into their precise places before noticing that his jacket was hanging neatly just beside the safe.

That was not where it was supposed to go.

Taking the jacket out of that closet, he walked to his bedroom. Everything was in its place—even the gold cufflinks and Rolex on his dresser. The bed was spotlessly pristine—the sheets and corners crisp. He took out a mahogany hanger and slid it into the jacket and hung it in the bedroom. Taking a deep breath, he was ready to shower when an unfamiliar, unexpected and entirely imprecise sound tinkled through the doorway to the bathroom.

But even that didn’t puncture his aura of calm. She was here to enhance his discipline and for that, he was almost grateful. Then, with what might have been called a grin on his face, he went into the bathroom.

His butterfly was kneeling in front of the toilet, scooping water out and drinking it.

That shattered his calm. Now, everyone knew that, despite the unsavory location, the water in the toilet was ultimately clean enough to drink in a pinch. But to have the naked woman choosing that over using the neat stack of paper cups on the sink grated his nerves.

He coughed harshly—the sort of cough that caused grown men to shiver and instantly direct 100% of their attention to him.

And she did suddenly become riveted to him, scrabbling into a kneeling posture with her hands folded on her legs and her eyes modestly downcast and her face washed out white except for the spots of color on her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

“What did you think you were doing?” he demanded in a soft tone.

Her eyes screwed tightly closed and, ever so slightly, her knuckles were white. He thought he saw a slight shudder. Then, in a soft, hesitant voice, she answered him. “A-a-a drink, sir…. Master.”

“There are cups,” he said, pointing to the white sink set in dark granite.

“They…yours…I-I-I…I didn’t think—d-don’t d-deserve..—.”

“Come here,” he ordered in that same soft tone. Taking one of the cups, he filled it with water and pressed it into her hands as soon as she stood. “Now drink.”

She flushed and drank deeply. With a quick glance, she looked around the bathroom again. There was absolutely no clue what he expected, and finally, she placed the cup on the counter.

“Throw it away, girl,” he growled. She nodded and watched it fall into the empty can. With a grunt, he gestured to the bedroom. She nodded and followed him out. He was mildly amused that she was stepping exactly where he stepped on the lush carpet. As soon as she was clear of the doorways, she knelt again, clearly listening and paying attention to his every motion even though her posture suggested she was trying to be a piece of furniture.

He unfastened the belt at his waist and heard her quick intake of breath. Glancing over at her with surprise, he saw that her hands were definitely knotted together and she had gone ghostly pale again. For a moment, he wondered what had set her off and then looked at the belt in his hands.

“Tell me, are you going to gasp every time I remove my belt?”

She seemed to think about it for a moment. Then, with a soft shake of her head, she whispered, “Only when I have displeased you, Master.”

He grinned wolfishly. “Ah. And what horrible sin did you commit?”

“I did not think you wanted me to use your cups.”

He nodded and hung up the belt. Beginning the tedious process of unbuttoning his suit shirt, he kept an eye on her. “And why would I not want you to use the cups?” He cocked his head and added, “What am I to call you anyway?”

“Whatever you please, Master,” she said in a musical tone that seemed to sing to him that it was the pat, rehearsed response.

“Surely you have a name?”

“Only whatever name you give me,” she replied with that same practiced, musical tone.

He rolled his eyes as he dumped the shirt in the clothes hamper. “So is there a name that you like?” She shook her head slightly. “Then I get to name you?” She nodded. “And if I decide to call you something else? Something…offensive?” She glanced at him curiously. “If I decide to call you—,” he paused trying to come up with something suitably insulting and failing. “‘Slut’ or ‘Whore’, then you have to answer to it?”

She nodded, her hands gradually relaxing and some color coming back to her cheeks. Then, on impulse, she added, “Whatever you please. I’ve been ‘Whore’ and ‘Slut’ and ‘Slave’ as well as other things.”

“And what else do I get to do?”

“Anything you wish.”

He sighed. He hadn’t honestly expected anything else, but it was a bit irritating nonetheless. “Very well. Do not complain to me if you do not like it.” He picked up a t-shirt and slid into it. “So what do you think we should do now?” He grinned at her and held up a hand. “No, let me guess. ‘Whatever I want’.”

She looked up at him, her breath catching a bit. “I…I would like to know my rules, Master. I-I-if it pleases you.”

“Rules?” He thought for a moment. “Do not get in my way.” She nodded solemnly. “Do not touch my weapons—ever.” She nodded again. “Do what I say, when I say it, and do not argue.” He paused a bit and then added, “Do not leave the apartment.”

He turned his back to her and slid off the suit pants and into a pair of comfortable sweatpants. “I am busy a lot, so I may not be here for a few days at a time.” He turned back around and found her watching him closely. Folding the pants, he put them on a hanger over the hamper. “You are not to leave for any reason and do not touch a thing unless I tell you.”

She nodded in agreement, curiosity in her eyes. “But am I not to clean?”

He smirked. “There are staff to do all that I need. There is no need for you to spend your days cleaning.”

“Then I am to attend you?”

He about choked. “I am…. I am fine.” She cocked her head in confusion, reminding him uncomfortably of Yui and Ichika when they were filled with questions. “I do not need…attending.”

Finally, she looked up at him, her gray eyes amazing and boring into his. “And…am I going to be punished?”

He laughed shortly. “Obey me and you will not be punished.” Then the demon inside him laughed and he added, “But, of course, I will punish you if you need it.” She nodded surprisingly and then, slowly, crawled past him to the belt. With a questioning look, her finger touched it. Shuddering, she looked at him and then the belt again. Impatiently, he growled, “And you will wish for something as sweet as a beating if I have to punish you.”

“T-T-Then, should we put the belt where you can reach it easily?”

He choked again and sucked in a breath. “I like it where it is.” She nodded, kneeling again, glancing up at him. “I expect you to ask questions if you do not understand, but only when we are alone.” He frowned and cocked his head. “And absolutely do not take any orders from Genji—he will get you in trouble if he can. In fact, just do not talk to him. That is easier.”

“How do I—entice you?” She looked at his shocked face. “I am here to please you.”

“Do you want to entice me?” He laughed. “And do not dare say ‘if it pleases me’.” Her mouth closed with a soft sound. “Is intimacy that important to you?”

“I am supposed to please you,” she said solemnly, like a child repeating from rote memory history facts. “If I do not, then….” She shivered. “What happens?”

“I will correct you,” Hanzo repeated firmly. “Then we will see what happens.”

She nodded seriously. “I don’t want to be….”

“You will not, if you listen to my rules,” he offered with a generous smiled. “I will not hurt you unnecessarily.”

She frowned slightly in confusion. “And…you will…for pleasure?”

“Pleasure?!”

“Of course,” she nodded seriously. “When you wish to be pleasured by my pain?”

Hanzo felt suddenly overheated and his face was blazing. Had he not gone through that little damning portfolio, he would have been utterly flummoxed. Lacking a response, he muttered, “We will see what we both enjoy.”

She nodded again thoughtfully. “I will endeavor to please you with my pain.”

He sighed. “Why not go find something to do while I take a shower?”

She smiled widely. “I can bathe you!”

He chuffed out a laugh. “Not tonight greedy little butterfly.” He nudged her with his knee and she moved further out into the bedroom as he went to the shower. It was a blessing to have hot water and great billows of steam to sink into. His body—undisciplined as he apparently was—was hard and hot in anticipation. Unfortunately, he was having a difficult time with his mind as well—it kept drifting into exciting little fantasies that were dark and dangerous and titillating all at the same time. All the shameful erotic fantasies he hadn’t even dreamed of actually doing—leather straps and rubber toys and sharp strikes—kept drifting in his head.

Thankfully, he had another tap—cold as icy as the steam was hot. The water helped him cool off—at least enough that he felt he could go back into his apartments. The towels were bothersome—not so soft that they managed to ease him through this unexpected ache in his loins and not so rough as to distract from it. But, he was dressed and decent and able to face her again.

She was peeking into the sitting room, her lovely butt facing him. Surprisingly, there were two small lines on her back, one on each side of her spine that he could see now that she wasn't in a blinding spotlight. Her hair had grown some, drifting down her neck and hitting her shoulders. The lines were thin and very light—almost invisible—and just when he was considering asking her about it, he saw that her shoes were off and the faint dark spots on the soles of her feet.

“What are those?” he breathed softly.

She let out a little squeak and whirled around to face him, her face flushed as she knelt.

“The bottom of your feet, girl,” he said.

She flushed even darker, and whispered, “I was…not fully pleasing, Master. I was still learning.”

He grunted. “Did he do that to you the night of the auction?” She didn’t look like she was going to answer, but after a pregnant pause, she nodded shortly. Sighing, he spread his hands innocently, “I told him not to punish you. Just—just to feed you.”

She glanced up at him and took in his glaring face and then nodded. Then she put on a brave smile, and replied, “It was…most generous of you to think about me after the auction.”

He grunted, still disbelieving. “I suppose that you have not eaten this evening either, have you?” She looked up at him, wide-eyed, and shook her head. “Then I will ring for one of the servants to bring you a snack.”

The maid on duty brought him a tray of two rice balls, a cup of warm green tea, two small candies, and an apple. She yawned slightly as she passed him the tray and shuffled back down the hall. He closed his door, coming back into the bedroom and setting it on the bed. It as amusing that her eyes were wide and entirely focused on the tray. He lounged on the bed, debating what was the best thing to start with. Picking up the tea, he took a tiny sip and let it spread on his tongue. Disappointment flickered across her face, and he waited a moment.

“Sometimes it is drugged or…poisoned,” he explained, swallowing the tea. “This is fine.”

She crawled up to the bed, mewling softly as a kitten. He smiled and beckoned her over, crooking four fingers in the come hither that his sensei often used on him. She knelt beside him, close enough that her fingers could ghost over his leg. He put the cup to her lips, allowed her to take a sip, and then pulled back.

She savored the tea, her eyes closing in pleasure. Her hands dropped a little, brushing his leg, and then pulling back suddenly. “Thank you, Master.” She glanced at the tray nervously, her hands fluttering like baby birds. “May I have more?”

He picked up the rice ball, sniffed it. She cracked a bit of a smile, apparently expecting a game, and licked her lips, and whined softly. He took a nibble of it and waited—if it was poisoned or drugged, his tongue would tell. It was really a shame this wasn’t a game, but it was what it was. Finally, he nodded and brought it to her lips. She was immensely pleased, sighing and shivering as the savory bite filled her mouth. Timidly, she put her hands on his knee, flinching a bit when he glanced at her and setting them back on the side of the bed.

In the end, he fed her the apple, half of a rice cake, and then she whispered that she was full. He frowned—it was hardly a meal. He picked up the candy, unwrapping the crinkly gold foil and waving it at her. She backed up a bit, flushing, and whispered, “I am so full, Master.”

He grunted and shrugged. “What do you normally eat?”

She licked her lips, catching one rice grain and savoring it. “Nothing so delicious.” He smirked at her. “But we are….” Her voice trailed off unexpectedly.

He frowned. “If you are satisfied, then we should sleep.”

Unexpectedly, she nodded solemnly and went to a corner of his bedroom and curled up, just like a cat. She was looking at him through heavily lidded eyes and yawned prettily. Grunting, he slid down on the bed and turned off the light.

He was resting deeply, content and at peace, as the day dawned. She was still curled in a ball against the corner of the bed, sleepily yawning, as he sat up and stretched. She whimpered a little as he stood up and managed to get upright before the knock at the door sounded.

He answered the door, taking the pile of papers and his normal breakfast tray. Sitting at the desk in the sitting room, he picked up the chopsticks and began eating the grilled fish and rice. The paperwork was the normal stuff, lists of accounts, a printout of a schedule showing his meetings today. It was going to be a blessedly normal day.

It wasn’t until he was sipping the miso soup that he remembered the girl. She knelt in the doorway, peeking out cautiously. He smirked at her, beckoning her closer and was gratified when she did crawl to him. She gobbled up the scraps of his breakfast—the last swallow of soup, the crumbs of the steamed rice, and the last bite of natto.

Surprisingly, she seemed satisfied with that, backing up to allow him to rise. She gamely followed him around, watching as he got dressed and carefully noting where the dirty clothes went, where the clothes were hung, even where his socks were. Hanzo was disconcerted at first, she seemed to be taking an advanced degree in exactly what his preferences and routines were. Then he remembered that she was there to help him with his discipline, and he smiled again.

Things would work out well. Genji had his little butterfly and seemed to be settling down. He had a satisfying day ahead. He would move some money into the accounts so that his and Genji’s little purchases were covered. He would spend a few hours with his bow hitting targets and then some time with the free weights. Then, he’d have the cook fix his favorite sushi and some chicken with some broccoli and mushrooms. Maybe he’d spend the evening meditating….

Of course, the day went awry quickly. The accounts did not balance as they should and were short. There was a police case open on one of the company fronts the Shimadas managed. Genji was sleeping in and missed their first meeting. The accounts were filled again with a rapid infusion of money, but there was still an unexplained deficit that amounted to tens of thousands of dollars. He hadn’t managed to get in more than a half-hour of target practice before Genji stalked in and began slicing the targets with his sword.

“What are you doing?!” Hanzo demanded.

Genji growled unintelligibly and then smashed another target. “The Crystal Dragons took out Sami.” Hanzo looked at him with a little more of a blank look than he intended and Genji growled. “Sami was managing that laundry by the club. He wasn’t doing anything! Just folding some laundry.”

Hanzo sighed, lowering his bow. “Sami?”

“Sami’s been in charge of that place for years. He paid his protection money the 15th every month and never gave us trouble.” Genji destroyed another target. “And the Crystal Dragons just had to have that corner!”

Hanzo sighed heavily. Genji was getting over emotional again and he shook his head. “We will put someone in his place.” Genji just glared at him. “And we will….”

“Never mind,” Genji snapped.

Hanzo frowned. “Cool off. Go to your butterfly and when you are calm again, we will get the laundry back.”

“It’s not just the laundry,” Genji snapped, glaring at him and rocking the sword in his hands.

“Then what is it?”

Genji just sighed. “I’m going out.”

Hanzo watched him stomp away dispassionately. Finishing his own workout was accomplished with his usual efficiency and he stalked back to his apartments. His clothes felt sticky and smelled sweaty and he wanted nothing more than a shower and to get some food.

The girl followed him around again, watching as he took off his clothes and turning away at the last moment before he kicked off his pants. He grabbed a towel and was not surprised as she scrambled behind him, putting the dirty clothes in the hamper and carefully setting things where she had seen him put them. He nodded shortly at her in approval as he finished his shower. “I am not going to be here for dinner.” She watched him attentively but said nothing. “I will have something brought to you.”

Fifteen minutes later a servant appeared with a lacquered tray and a dinner. Hanzo put the tray down on the coffee table and waved her over. The girl crept to the tray, her nose twitching slightly at the savory scents in the air. Hanzo snorted at her face and she shied away bashfully. It wasn’t until he was sliding a hidden knife into a wrist sheath and pulling out his bow and quiver from the weapons safe that he noticed that she was simply looking at it.

“What is wrong, girl?” he snapped. She looked up at him and then back at the tray a bit mournfully. “Is this not good enough?”

She looked up at him bashfully. “And you are not worried a-a-about poison?”

He nodded and stopped long enough to taste each small dish—a sip of soup, a bit of rice, a nibble of the beef—and went back to his weapons. He saw her still staring at the tray. “What’s wrong now?”

“Do I have your permission to eat?” She looked up at him with a dewy and pleading look. “O-o-or is this a test of some kind?”

He stared at her for a moment as her words washed over him. “What? My permission?” She glanced at the tray and nodded. “This is something that you are tested on?” She nodded again and he rolled his eyes with a growl. Asahi was one sick chikushou. “Go ahead and eat, girl.”

He watched as she reached for the soup and sipped it with a shiver of pleasure. He couldn’t help but smirk at the pleasure on her face—her closed eyes, her smile and the way she leaned back fractionally. She enjoyed even that small sip of soup so much he wanted to simply watch as she ate.

Pity he was busy tonight.

He picked up his bow and slung the quiver over his suited shoulders. With a pensive shrug and an absent nod towards the woman, he left the apartment, locking the door behind him. Genji’s text came through as he was climbing into the chauffeured car. 

“EAT in 35 min.”

Hanzo frowned as he replied. Then he decided to simply call and he heard Genji’s greeting, “Hey, this is Genji. If this is an emergency, press 1 and leave a message. If this is not an emergency, press 2 and leave a message. If you don’t know, press 5 and leave a message. Just leave a message after the gunshots.” Hanzo was about to say something but Genji’s voice came back. “And if this is Hanzo—just go away.”

Hanzo growled into the phone. “You had better be at the laundry in 30 minutes, Genji. I do not care what you are eating.”

Five minutes later, Hanzo’s phone rang. Without preamble, Genji started, “Wrong message. I’ll be there, Han.”

“On time?” Hanzo grunted.

“Am I ever late? Don’t answer that. I’ll be there. I’m leaving now.”

“You are only now leaving? You will be late.” Hanzo sighed. “We need you Genji.”

“I’ll just go twice as fast. See you there.”

The laundromat was lit up—the large neon sign shining and the large fluorescent lights showing the empty washers and dryers—but no one was in there except for two thin teenagers pounding on the old arcade machine in the back and a pile of blankets and empty candy wrappers from the busted snack machine.

The large, sleek black car pulled into the parking lot and Hanzo stared at the old building as his driver stepped out and came around to his side. The body guard was already drawing his weapons, unafraid and content with any possibility and outcome. The teens spotted the huge guard, they ducked behind the game machine and pulled out a cell phone.

Hanzo climbed out and leisurely pulled out his bow and knocked an arrow. With a leisurely shot, he fired through the glass storefront and the arrow’s head was buried between the edge of the back door and the doorframe. One terrified teenager with a purple Mohawk and strange makeup ran to the door and pulled on the knob and then the arrow futilely.

Hanzo’s guard went up to the glass door and opened it silently. He walked inside silently as well, watching the two teenagers as they fumbled to pull out a switchblade. “You are not who I was looking for.” The teenagers only growled in reply. “I am looking for the head of the Crystal Dragons.”

One of them coughed and shouted, “You don’t know the Dragons, man. You’re dead. You’re a dead man.”

Hanzo heard the quiet chuckle of his body guard as the man cocked his weapon and fired at the wall over their heads. “I would suggest that you summon the boss, then. Before my associate decides that you are not worth keeping alive because of your utter uselessness.”

The teenagers whined and waved the tiny blade at them again. “You’re crazy man. The boss is gonna kill you.”

“Just summon him,” Hanzo said cooly, pulling up the bow and sighting it. One of the teenagers began crying into a cell phone. “And do not make me wait too long or I may…let go.”

They gabbled into their device. “Boss…you’re not gonna believe it. The Shimadas—they’re here. What do you mean who is it? It’s him and he’s pissed. He’s got the arrows and everything. Look—just come over. What do you mean where’s the other one? There’s two of them?!”

Hanzo felt a prickle down his spine. If Genji was here, there would be two of them. He was about to send the body guard around the back, when he heard the sound of a loud motorcycles peel into the parking lot. He sucked in a quick breath and glanced at the line of dryers next to him.

The Crystal Dragons must be close if their backup had arrived so quickly. He kept smiling at the teenagers, ready to fire. His body guard slid closer, going shoulder to shoulder as the others came bursting in, spreading out in the laundromat.

One leather clad individual came forward and took off the helmet. The scarred woman growled at him and pulled out a gun. “Okay Shimada, we own this corner fair and square and you have five seconds to go out that door and not look back.”

Hanzo was about to seriously consider retreat when a gleam caught his eye—a gleam of razor sharp katanas behind a leather clad biker with a full face motorcycle helmet. He cocked a smile. “Are you sure?”

The woman got out half a snort before the katanas sang out and cut four of them down. The bikers swung around at the bloody sounds only to see the swords swung up again. Hanzo ignored the whiny teenagers and let his arrows fly before rolling behind the dryers. His bodyguard was already down, peeking around the machines and firing.

Genji’s voice rang out as there more bodies hit the ground. “Knock it off, Brother! Just shoot them already.”

Shots were fired and Genji grunted as they hit his body armor. Hanzo growled and began firing at the Crystal Dragons. Blood exploded in fine, red mist as they went down from sword cuts and bullets and arrows. When they tried to face Genji and his swords, Hanzo would pop up from behind the dryers and washers with arrows. If they turned to fire at the archer, the swords cut them down behind as the swordsman seemed to leap from the walls.

Hanzo drew a deep breath as another body hit the ground and popped up to see only the swordsman still standing. He laughed and lowered the bow. “Do you always have to make a dramatic entrance?”

Genji pulled off the helmet and smiled stiffly as he picked at the wires connecting the helmet to his high tech body armor underneath his shredded leather biker’s suit. “Because it adds to the romantic tension?”

Hanzo pulled a face. “The what?!”

Genji pulled a bandana off of a mangled body and wiped his swords off as the bodyguard began collecting the discarded clips. “Never mind.”

Hanzo grunted. “At least you did finally get here.”

“In time to save your ass,” Genji crowed wickedly.

Hanzo grunted again. “If you had been here on time, we might have gotten this settled a little sooner.”

“Hey, I’m here. You’re here. We’re in singular pieces.” Genji cringed a little as a small folding table crumpled under the weight of the bodies on it with a crash. “And…the laundry just needs a little cleaning.”

Hanzo grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him out the door. The driver and bodyguard were already back in position at the car with only a small scratch on one shoulder. He leaned back against the soft leather with satisfaction. The younger Shimada walked out quite calmly, sheathing his swords and tucking them beneath a “borrowed” leather jacket before putting back on his helmet and straddling the motorcycle. With a casual wave, the bike growled to life and, with a squeal of tires, disappeared into the dark streets.

Hanzo flicked a wave at the rider’s back and checked his phone. Three messages shown on the screen—one from a pizza delivery advertising a buy-two-get-one special and two from his father. The driver began following the lazy lights of the motorcycle as he paged through the news idly. Hanzo frowned as the motorcycle turned off and parked at a corner.

The driver slowed down and over the intercom his voice crackled, “Do we follow him, Sir?”

Hanzo groaned and replied, “Yes. But from a distance—he may need assistance.”

Four times the motorcycle veered to one corner or another. Four times the biker pulled off and greeted loitering punk kids, only to lure them into a dark alley and then come out alone and then take a can of spray paint out of the motorcycle saddlebags and scrawl out the signs of the Crystal Dragons painted on the walls or sidewalks.

His phone lit up once with “Are you following me? 4 Rls? Rly?” before going dark. Hanzo debated a reply, trying to figure out a response. Ultimately, though, the biker gave up and took the exit off the freeway to the Shimada estate.

Hanzo sighed as the car pulled up to a stop. The driver came out and opened the door with appropriate ceremony. “Good to have you still here, Sir,” he grunted out.

“Get to a doctor,” Hanzo muttered in return. “You do not want that becoming infected.”

“Yes, Sir.” Hanzo nodded again absently. “And your father wanted to see you, Sir.”

Hanzo walked down to his apartment and stopped long enough to put on a fresh change of clothes. His butterfly was in the bathroom and he could hear her bathing, could see a little sliver of a slender leg in the tub reflected in the mirror where she hadn’t quite closed the door. Annoyed for even delaying to look at her, he put the dirty shirt and pants in the hamper before she saw them and pulled on the clean pants as silently as possible.

“Master? Is that you?” called the female voice from the bathroom.

“Just stay there,” he growled back. “I have to change and leave in a minute.” There was a splash in a reply. “Just stay there and bathe.”

“A-a-all right,” she replied.

His father, Shimada Sojiro, was taking tea with his two brothers—Hanzo’s Uncle Sora an Uncle Kaito—in one of the sitting rooms overlooking the gardens. The three older men watched him intently as Hanzo came in. His father looked down his nose at him as his eldest son sat down at the table. 

“And where is your younger brother, Hanzo?” asked Sojiro.

Hanzo bit his tongue to avoid saying, “Out slaughtering random gang members” and said instead, “He was in front of the car on his motorcycle when I returned to the estate.”

Uncle Sora—the elder of Sojiro’s brothers—looked at him with some mix of disdain and boredom as he sipped his tea. “Do you not know? Is it not your responsibility to watch him?”

His father nodded as Hanzo gritted his teeth. “You must take responsibility for him, Hanzo.” His father took another sip of tea. “You should make him a more responsible person. Take charge of him and make him into a proper Shimada.”

“You need to be more careful and more disciplined,” added the other uncle. “After all, you did lose the corner laundry, did you not?”

Hanzo stared at the three men for a moment, struggling to get control of his temper. “The problem with the laundry has been resolved—.”

“It is important that you understand that we must maintain control of our territories to prevent other gangs from taking advantage and becoming more powerful,” his father added. “It is your responsibility to make sure that our territory is united. That our control is unchallenged.” The uncles nodded in agreement. “Any loss or weakness will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”

Hanzo nodded. “I understand, Father.”

“Do not be afraid to be more ruthless,” his father continued. “It will increase your discipline. And it will help you bring Genji in line.” Another sip of tea. “He was at the laundry tonight, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And the Crystal Dragons?”

“They were defeated,” Hanzo murmured.

“And the laundry belongs to us again,” murmured Kaito.

“Yes, Uncle,” Hanzo said again.

“Do not let such a mistake happen again,” Sojiro said. “We must maintain control at all times and not go running off back and forth. Definitely not running around killing random gang members out of…some kind of immature temper tantrum. It attracts attention.”

“No, Father.”

“Then that is all,” Sojiro sniffed, his voice hoarse as though it was failing.

Hanzo stood and left the other men to their tea. Where on earth had his younger brother run off to now? He growled as he thought about the ways he wanted to throttle the younger man. To make matters worse, Genji was lurking in the hallway, waiting for him. “I do not have the time or energy to listen to your tantrum,” he grunted.

“Yeah, well, deal with it,” Genji snarled back. “So, where’s your butterfly?” Without waiting for a reply, he asked, “What’s her name anyway?”

Hanzo heard her reply in his head, “Whatever you wish”. “She is not your concern,” Hanzo said shortly. “Besides, you have duties to attend to.”

“Don’t I know it,” Genji muttered. “So Mai and I are watching a movie and wanted to see if you and Blackie wanted to come over.” He cocked a head. “And, I wanted to see if you had some information on whatever Asahi did to these girls.”

Hanzo sighed dramatically. “I know as much as you do.”

“Blackie knows more.”

“That is not her name.”

“It is until you actually, like, pay attention to her and give her one.”

Hanzo grunted, folding his arms. “I do not appreciate that tone.” He sighed. “I suppose that you are not going to let this go.”

Genji smirked. “I need to blow off some steam. You need to blow off some steam. We can get the girls together and be absolutely safe and under your watchful and completely unnecessarily overprotective eyes.”

“If you need to relax, then go to the dojo.”

“Mai is much more relaxing.” Hanzo grunted. “And I want to see if Blackie has actually survived you.” Genji tilted his head thoughtfully. “Or, since the stick up your ass is particularly large tonight, maybe you need to go to her and let her do her sexy thing.”

“She is fine. I am fine. We are both fine without your interference.”

“Just let her out once, Han,” Genji pouted. “I’ll even put her back before she turns into a pumpkin.” He smiled widely. “Mai was excited that there was another butterfly here. Seems like there might be a bunch of stuff for the butterflies to talk about.”

“No.”

Genji smirked. “Did you know that the butterflies know Shiatsu and Swedish massage? And, some reflexology.” He cocked his head the other way. “Part of the normal training, apparently. Wanna take a bet on what else they know?”

“No.”

“You say that word too much. Tell you what. I’ll bring Mai over in about 10 minutes, let them talk a bit, meet the little lady—.”

“Now you sound like a cowboy.”

“—And we’ll sit in your sanctum sanctorum and not have a lick of fun.” He walked away with a wave. “See you in 10 minutes, big brother.”

Hanzo gaped as his brother retreated down the hall. Gritting his teeth, he jerked open his door. The girl scampered to kneel in the doorway. He glared at her and she took one glance at his face before scrambling backwards and out of his way. He grunted at her and went to take a short shower. Genji was likely on his way already and wanted them to watch some asinine movie. Why the hell wasn’t that damned girl dressed?

Thankfully, the staff had come in and cleaned and his rooms were their usual spotless selves. The tray from breakfast had been removed, the trash emptied, and so on. The bed was made and the clothes that had been laundered was returned and hung neatly in the closet. He sighed heavily, the cleanliness easing his tension to a more bearable level, as he made his way to the bathroom and took off his shirt.

Things were gradually making him unwind until his hand hit something…damp and squishy on the cabinet. Looking down, he saw a paper cup. The usually crisp paper was damp and pliable and had obviously been sitting there some time.

Stomping back to the bedroom, he found her in the same corner she had slept in. “Do I really need to tell you that I want things to be clean?” He pointed at the cup on the counter. “Clean up after yourself!” He started to bellow in frustration. “Now!” She scrabbled past him, half crawling, and tossed the cup. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“I was using the cup,” she mewled.

He opened his mouth to shout at her as she cringed backwards, but then something caught his attention. “Cup?! As in the singular?!” She sobbed and cringed from him. “What the hell?! I want you to clean up after yourself and be responsible for once and not make trouble for me.” He took a deep breath. “You are headed for the first damn street corner that I can find if you do not straighten up.”

She sobbed and his anger grew as she wept. Finally, as he glared at her, she crawled past him on her belly and took his belt out of the closet. With sad, solemn ceremony, she spread it across her palms and held it up to him.

Hanzo stared at her with narrowed eyes and hearing his teeth gritting in a loud, rapid tapping. “What the—?!” He crossed his arms, his hands in fists. “What are you doing?!”

She kept sobbing, her body shaking and raising the belt higher. “Forgive me, Master. P-p-please forgive me.”

Hanzo growled and for a moment, he just saw red. He felt like a demon, all hot rage and blood red in his eyes. Snatching the belt, he folded it in his hand and swung it with a whistling hiss. It was nowhere near her, but she jerked wildly anyway. She took one shaky breath and knelt at the corner of the bed, gripping the bedpost and burying her face in her arms. Hanzo gave another wordless shout and let the belt swing and slap against the bed with a loud crack. Enraged, he swung backwards with a guttural snarl, listening to the hiss of leather through the air before bringing it back across his hands.

Then the most unexpected sound was behind him—a soft, feminine cry and a sharp, masculine grunt. He glared over his shoulder and saw Genji standing in the bedroom doorway, holding a gasping Mai in his arms. Genji’s stare was murderous, shooting daggers at him and pushing Mai behind him protectively.

Hanzo felt frozen, looking at them. The apartment was suddenly cold and airless and he felt every muscle cramp in place. A glance at a mirror showed a damning scene—he was standing shirtless over the naked girl kneeling at the corner of his bed with a belt swinging. He unfolded the belt and hung it up in his closet, shame coloring his dusky cheeks.

Genji glared at him, blocking his view of Mai. All Hanzo could see of her was a cute pair of green satin short pajamas with black lace on the edges. Genji looked at him viciously and pulled her further behind himself as Hanzo stared. Finally, he spoke, “Catch you at a bad time?”

Hanzo couldn’t help but gape. His girl’s heavy sobs echoed in the bedroom and the other girl just let out a terrified little mewl. Finally, he took a deep breath, a flame on his cheeks. “We will be with you in a minute.”

Genji just crouched there and stared, watching him carefully. With a growl, Hanzo shoved him out of the bedroom and shut the door. Apparently, this was not the right answer because his butterfly shuddered—actually, shivered—and curled up tighter into a ball while gripping the bedpost with her knuckles white. She took a deep breath to match his and braced herself for whatever he was going to dish out.

Not a word—she didn't say a word. Didn't resist or raise her arms—just accepted on some profoundly hopeless level that he could do what he pleased. And that she deserved it.

“Come out,” he sighed heavily. He hadn’t even really been angry at the girl—her using just one cup all day was nothing. He had been furious with so many other things long before he had gotten here. As the Americans said, it was the straw that broke the mule’s back. Or was it “camel”? He shook his head impatiently. “Let go of the bedpost.”

She did, dropping her hands and instantly knotting them in the carpet. When he reached one hand to her back, she hissed in a shrieking breath. But, aside from her shuddering, she was still.

He marveled over that for a moment. She had every reason to believe he was going to beat her. He certainly hadn’t done anything today to convince her that she was not in mortal danger. But she stayed firm, she tried her best. He whispered to her, “The belt is away. I will not beat you.”

At first, he thought she didn’t hear him, but gradually one gray eye glanced up to test his words. When she saw him, she shuddered again and, watching his every breath as carefully as a mouse watches a snake, she uncoiled and knelt up. Some form of feminine pride asserted itself, and she wiped at her face with her hands and brushed her hair back.

“I will not beat you,” he repeated as gently as he knew how. “Now come out and…why are you not dressed?”

She looked up at him, wiping at her face again. “W-w-what do you want me to dress in?”

He stared at her. He wanted her in an evening gown of yards of black velvet as dark as sin and decorated with small crystals that flashed like her eyes. He wanted her in one of the frothy little outfits that screamed for attention from the billboards as they advertised underwear stores. With a start and a grim laugh, he realized that he literally had nothing for her to wear. Taking out a spare white t-shirt, he tossed it to her.

She scrambled to slide into it, kneeling again as fast as humanly possible. Hanzo almost groaned. With her hands folded together in front of her waist and kneeling up, she looked like a heartthrob model from one of those dirty magazines Genji occasionally bought. He beckoned to her and she crawled up to him, shuddering and shivering as he patted her head and let his hands go down her back.

“Wash your face,” he said softly. “It appears we have guests.”

She bounded like a wet cat and went to the sink to wash her face. It was mildly soothing to see her do something so mundane as washing her face, and then amusing as she carefully scrubbed every portion of the sink and countertops and then put the washcloth in the hamper. She poked everything at least twice until it was precisely how he had placed it this morning. If he hadn’t seen her in there, he might have believed that she hadn’t been in the bathroom at all.

Beckoning to her again, he reached for her wrist with an exaggeratedly slow motion. Her wrist was so small, so delicate, in his huge hands. It was like he was holding on to Ichika’s doll, his huge fingers wrapped around the thin cloth arm. He sighed at that and lowered his voice to a soft and hopefully gentle tone. “My brother, Genji, and his…butterfly are waiting to watch a movie with us.” She stared at him solemnly with bloodshot weeping eyes without saying anything. “I…I am sorry. I did not mean to lose my temper so.”

She nodded carefully at his apology. Her posture and face said she was again happy and bubbly, but her eyes said that she was weighing his words against his actions and that did not sit well with him.

“We will watch for a little while, then go to bed.” She nodded again and Hanzo sighed. He slid on a shirt himself and took her by the hand. “Hopefully it is nothing too…bizarre.”

They walked out to the sitting room. Genji was on the couch, holding on to Mai tightly as she whispered urgently to him. She shot him a wary look and Genji whispered into her ear. With a nod, she scooted over, allowing Genji to make room for Hanzo. Genji silently cued up a silly Godzilla movie and Hanzo inwardly groaned. Genji was addicted to Godzilla and anime movies and if the wide, eager eyes of Mai were any indication, she was eager to watch as well.

His own butterfly knelt on the floor beside the couch, watching somewhat blankly. As the scene shifted to a picnic with huge dishes of sandwiches, salad, cheesecake, chips and fruit, his butterfly—he really did need a name for her—shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Hanzo patted her absently, hoping she’d unwind enough to lean in a little the way Mai curled up next to Genji. Sighing, he kept stroking her hair and ignoring the rubble and rubber clad monster.

Godzilla had stomped on the Tokyo Opera House when Genji paused the movie to take a call on his cell. He soothed Mai with some indistinct excuse and stepped into the hallway. Hanzo stood, grunting at the girls, and went to make a call on the house line. After such a beastly show of rage, he felt…a twinge of guilt and decided that asking for a servant to bring some snacks was the least he could do. He wondered if they would eat something as prosaic as popcorn or if he needed to get them something…more substantial. Perhaps as little as she had eaten, she would like more of a meal?

Genji had come back in and was reaching out towards the kneeling girl. She had fallen over, sliding further and further away as he crooned to her. With a grunt, he hung up and stalked over to the couch. “What do you think you’re doing, Genji?”

“Trying to talk to her,” Genji shrugged. 

“Do not.”

“Hey, I’m a nice guy. Right, Mai? Tell him I’m a nice guy.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Mai parroted.

“Do. Not. Even. Start.” Hanzo sat down on the end of the couch again, pointedly beckoning and satisfied that the girl returned to kneel beside him. “I have ordered some food—snacks.”

Genji looked at him curiously. “The great Shimada heir—Hanzo Shimada—has…ordered snacks?” His tone was disbelieving.

“It is not that unheard of,” Hanzo grumbled. “Besides, my butterfly needs to eat.”

Genji cleared his throat and seemed on the verge of saying something, but instead just turned back on the movie. The snacks were a welcome distraction fifteen minutes later and Hanzo took care to choose nutritious morsels—pickled vegetables, sashimi, fruit bits and white tea. He tasted each of them before passing her bites. His butterfly did apparently have the appetite of a bird and he didn’t want her to suffer from lack of nourishment. As he popped a morsel into her mouth, he chose to ignore Genji’s covert staring.

Some time later, Godzilla went back into the ocean with a metallic roar and Genji had Mai curled up in his lap. Hanzo kept petting the other girl and, sometime during the movie, she had managed to slide to the couch and lounge more comfortably against it. Genji laughed softly and stood up to carry Mai off and Hanzo was a little dazed as the butterfly suddenly knelt again in her full, “formal” posture.

Turning off the television and the other equipment, he watched as Genji waltzed out, nodding his goodnights and closing the door softly. It was late and even he wanted to sleep. With a grunt, he made his way into the bedroom to stretch out on the bed. He heard soft sounds and saw her picking up the napkins, setting things on the tray, picking up the tiny bits and pieces that littered his coffee table.

“Girl,” he called. “Just come in and get some sleep.”

She let out a yip and glanced guiltily over her shoulder. Then, with a brisk brush of her hands, she stood and came into the doorway. Hanzo’s eyes went wide as the light from the sitting room outlined her body through the thin t-shirt. Growling in his throat, he spread his legs unconsciously. If he had any good karma left, he would trade it all so she would come over and climb on the bed between his legs….

And, she didn’t. She turned off the light, took off the t-shirt and carefully put it in the hamper. Then, after a hurried glance, she went to her corner. Hanzo almost whined at seeing her curl up in that wretched corner again. But she was there to test his discipline, he reminded himself. Not to engage in a glorious, black-hearted rut with.

Discipline, he reminded himself.

Self-control.

Patience.

Discipline….yeah….right. Discipline.

The black night dawned into a stormy new morning. The mighty Shimada heir had spent the night in dreams so shameful in their sexy, dirty way that he blushed and gritted his teeth to even think about them. He had slept almost sitting up, his legs splayed grotesquely lewdly. Stretching and hearing his joints crack, he stood blearily.

It was a dreary day, the sort that his mother had made him enjoy because she would bring him and Genji tea and cookies in bed before they had to appear at father’s breakfast table. The sort of day where it was a pleasure to sit and handle the papers and the books and have the rain tapping on the windows.

Sighing, he glanced to her corner, where she was curled in a knot, her arm folded under her head stiffly. He tried to get out of bed silently enough that she could sleep, but his apartments were so quiet that even the sheets shifting seemed to rattle.

She opened her eyes and sat up stretch similarly before settling into her normal kneeling posture. Hanzo grunted again and whispered, “You can sleep a little later. It is early and I wanted to go….” He coughed hoarsely as she peered up at him with those brilliant gray eyes. “I wanted to spend some time in the dojo before I started the day.”

Looking up at him, she seemed to nod uncertainly. Then, with a timid voice, she asked, “Could…could I please come?”

Hanzo blinked uncertainly. “Why?”

She stood sleepily. “I do not want to become fat,” she giggled. With a careless shrug, she poked her stomach. “I…should do more…..”

Hanzo stalked over to the closet and pulled out a t-shirt to toss over his shoulder to her. Then he took another one into the bathroom to get started on his day. She pulled on the shirt and followed him like a puppy. He pulled out a toothbrush and smeared some toothpaste on it and caught her eyes in the mirror. She offered him a timid smile and took out a washcloth. Flushing, he realized that he had utterly failed to provide for her—even a toothbrush.

Genji would laugh at him for months. That the great Shimada heir had utterly failed to do something as simple—as humane—as get the chit the basics of a toothbrush and some clothes. What else would she need? Deodorant. Toiletries. Maybe some perfume? Definitely some red lipstick and some shampoo. What else did women do to become beautiful?

Not that she wasn’t beautiful already. Even with her hair tangled around her shoulders—he should add something for her hair like a comb and some bands—and with his shirt hanging off of her like a sheet she was beautiful with ripe curves that could make a man forget duty and honor and every virtue if only to have a moment with her breasts in his hands and her legs around his waist.

They crept out of the apartments—pausing as she glanced nervously at him for his approval before following him down the dim hallways. The dojo was dark, happily, and the skylights only offered dim pools of gray light that flickered as lightning shone through.

Hanzo led her around the edge of the room, smirking at her small giggle. But there was a devilish demon in him and he put her on the treadmill. Setting it to a low speed, he smiled at her jiggling loping. She watched him warmly as he began stretching a short distance away from her.

It wasn’t until he realized that he was staring at the giggling chest, for the third time, that he began to get a better idea. Walking over, he turned off the treadmill and gestured for her to join him on the mats in the middle of the floor.

“Little flower,” he whispered wickedly. “I am going to test your limits.” She looked up at him uncertainly, doubt blooming on her face. He picked up a pair of small 2 pound weights and set them in her hands. She did an experimental curl, watching him curiously. “I will start with little weights, little things. Then I will see how far you can go.” She seemed to shiver a bit as his voice dipped softly. “Now, let us begin.”

He started with stretches, gently pressing on her to deepen the postures. She could keep up with him as he did the warm up stretches, her muscles already flexible. Then he moved on to strength exercises. As promised, he started her with light weights, gradually giving her heavier and heavier weights until she was grunting softly and sweat was glistening on her skin. She struggled through the punishing rhythm of pushups and sit-ups, glancing up at him repeatedly as sweat dripped down her face.

Finally, he wanted her to run. Picking up a few small weights, he set them on the floor across the room. Smiling, he whispered, “I want you to run here, grab a weight and run back. Set it down and run for the next one.” She shivered a little. “Now.”

With a leap, she began running. She did the first lap without a problem and he appreciated her shapely running. Then he leapt to the mat, comically reaching for her. “Do not let me catch you butterfly!” He leapt at her again and with a little shriek, she dodged and kept running. He chased her, his longer legs giving him an advantage.

He warmed to the chase quickly. Although, he had to admit, he had never before had such appealing prey. The weights were quickly forgotten as she ducked behind the treadmill and tried to slide through the machine’s open front. He growled comically at her, his fingers running through her hair and she surprised him with a shriek and then a laugh that was genuine and musical.

He smirked, his strides slowing down and growing more graceful as he began circling the last weight. She let out a little, happy sound and began circling him in sloppy ovals. Her eyes sparkled uncertainly and she bit her lip as she thought about how to get around him.

“You need to get the weight,” he said with a solemnity he didn’t feel. “What are you going to do?” She kept circling, ever more carefully. “Do tell me, butterfly.”

She apparently decided to just make a run for it. He pounced on her, bringing her body close and rolling her on the floor until she lay, shaking, beneath him. He grinned wickedly as she looked up at him with a mix of uncertainty and glee. 

Propping up on one elbow, he let one finger slide down her leg to hook on the t-shirt. “I win.” Dragging it up slowly, he grinned wickedly. “What are you going to do now?” She was so petite compared to him that the hem went practically to her neck without stretching. “How about ‘whatever I want’?”

She nodded, her mouth gaping a little as she panted. Very softly, he bent to taste her. Just a little taste—a nibble of her bottom lip. But she was sweet—even the sweat on her upper lip tasted sweet. Then her delicate fingers, long and slender, drifted up to his side, stroking him through his sweaty shirt. With a playful growl, he dropped his hips and ground against hers.

Sweetly, her hips bucked up against his, a tiny smear of moisture on the thin material welcoming him. He pushed up to his knees, pinning her with a hot gaze, and ripped off his shirt. Dropping on top of her again, he dipped again to her honeyed lips. Her little pink lips that were soft and moist and were opening just a little. She broke away from him and he was prepared to pull back, but it was only to take a lungful of air before she wrapped uncertain arms around his neck to pull herself up and timidly lick his neck.

With another growl, he grated his body down hers until her lovely breasts were right there. Right at his mouth, they bobbed with the most beautiful pink peaks.

“Aiyee! It has been too long,” he thought as those lovely dusty pink tip pulled his lips to them as surely as a magnet pulled north. Then they were in his mouth like sweet candies. She shivered in an electric movement. 

But there was too much for just his mouth. One huge hand covered the other breast so that it wasn’t lonely waiting for his mouth. They lifted with her breath like they were begging him to touch them. He switched to the other breast, watching as the nipples tightened.

But her stomach, her hips, were pushing against him like a rippling tide. He propped up on his elbow with one hand still gripping her soft breast. The other hand wrapped around her narrow waist, gripping like he was afraid she’d melt away. That little twist of her hips she gave took his breath away and he couldn’t resist pumping his hips and listening to that little gasp.

Her eyes glowed like silver stars as she watched him for another second and then closed her eyes. Without waiting, he slid back up to her mouth, pouncing on her with a rough shove. Instantly, her arms tightened around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist and locking behind him.

He laughed against her lip. “You cannot hold me,” he whispered against her. With a buck, her legs fell open and he laughed as she pushed upward against him. His hand drifted up to curl in her hair. He had to hold her before she squirmed around again and he lost hold of her sweet lips.

His head swam as she yielded more and then more. He could lap sweat from her throat and she would sigh. He could nip at her shoulder and she’d shiver. His hands could wander from breast to breast and then down her curving waist to the shadowed and secret honey between her legs. His hands kept roaming, measuring her as a sculptor would measure a statue—every curve pliant and hot beneath his fingers.

Then, timidly and carefully, her fingers crept to his waist. She touched him back, flicking sweat aside and brushing against him softly. He laughed softly and his lips brushed her forehead. “What a bold little thing you are. What if I did—this?” With a quick motion, he ripped the shirt off of her. But from the sparkle in her eyes and the soft smile on her lips, she didn’t mind a bit.

Then her hand flickered over his tattooed shoulder. The sigils and charms that bound the dragons to him went electric as she traced them. Underneath his skin, he could almost feel the dragons rise to meet her touch. With a groan, he tried to move, but every muscle screamed in protest. Shivers slid down his spine and he pressed hard against her. The dragons roared in his head, demanding and hot and sensual and shivering as she traced the tattoo down to his elbow.

He gritted his teeth and ground his hips against her, his cheeks puffing and panting. If she didn’t stop, he would not care about anything other than ripping off the suddenly chafing sweat pants and thrusting into her waiting heat until she screamed his name. Over and over until she was hoarse. He wouldn’t care about his brother. He wouldn’t care about the disapproving council of elders who were watching his every move and picking at his every mistake. He would only care about that sweetness between her thighs.

The dragons growled in approval. It took something special for them to offer approval. He had long since stopped visiting whores and having escorts entertain him because there was always a bitter taste in his mouth—a crawling in his skin—that it was wrong. The dragons liked order, cleanliness, and peace, and were quick to point out things that were wrong. But now, the growls and howls, however silent that they were, flooded his blood and all the heat went straight to his groin. He wanted to howl with it.

“If she does not stop, then there will be no telling the animal she will turn loose,” he thought with a trace of sadness. Her fingers slipped maddeningly up his arms again, trilling over his tattoo and sending lightning down through his body. “But if she does stop, I will go…mad.”

The dragons whimpered in his head and it felt like there was lightning dancing from her fingertips as she stroked the tattoo again. Hanzo echoed their purring delight—

—until the harsh knock on the door sounded.

“Master Hanzo,” called a servant. “You are expected for breakfast.”

Hanzo’s eyes were glazed for a moment as he looked at her. Sweat beaded on her and her legs were almost shiny with slickness. Her silver gaze was hooded and hot, unaware that in about 5 minutes, the servants would burst in and begin bustling around him to start the day. With a deep breath of regret, he gathered her hands in his and gently kissed the knuckles. “We must part.”

She was about to say something, make some protest, but her training kicked in and she shuddered and nodded. With care, she took the rags and mopped up the puddles of sweat as he put away the weights and shouted to the servant at the door to come back in a few minutes.

With a rapid lope, he hustled her back into the apartment. She followed him without protest and went back to her corner of the bedroom. As he buttoned the shirt and slid the cufflinks back into place, he looked at her.

“When I get back, we will go shopping for a few things. You will need clothing and—.” His hand gestured vaguely. “—things to keep clean and orderly.”

The day passed in an peaceful fashion. His meetings went well. His books balanced, for the first time in a week. He met his father and brother for lunch and was able to discuss the family and business without it ending in a fight. His afternoon workout was happily explosive, making his muscles ache and sweat sting his eyes. His targets shattered satisfyingly.

And all of it was underscored with the beautiful hum in his blood. His little blossom was still tucked in his apartment, and waiting on his pleasure. It would not be a hardship to pull her into his huge bed. They would order some odds and ends online, eat a lovely meal, and settle back for some well-earned enjoyment of his little butterfly.

He was almost convinced that his dedication and discipline could take—just this once—a back seat.

He still needed to name her. It was a mouthful to call her a “butterfly” every time and calling her “girl” or “female” seemed somehow a bit short and impersonal. Women had been around him for years—if for no other reason than because Genji seemed surrounded with at times. He had never had names for any of those women—there had never needed to be any.

So what to call a girl with hair black as his own desire and eyes like silver mirrors? He absolutely did not want to call her “Blackie”. That was a silly name and made her sound like a prostitute—a cheap prostitute. “Raven” sounded a little better, but did raven have eyes of mercury? “Silver”…that was not a precious enough. “Takara”—“treasure”—sounded best. He could change it, he supposed, if it turned into a mouthful.

He was anticipating the servants coming with dinner—he had ordered small bites of the tenderest Kobe beef with cubes of carrots, zucchini, onions, and mushrooms. There were to be rice balls the size of sake cups. He didn’t want to weaken her with heavy drink since she ate like a literal bird—the amount scarcely as big as his palm at times. Maybe he would bathe her first. She probably had showered by now—she was fastidious in bathing before he returned each day—but he would not take it amiss if he had to bathe her again.

But, there was the pounding of a fist against wood. Surprised, he turned the corner and saw Genji hammering at his door. Flattening his silly grin, he raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Did you want to see me?”

Genji frowned and spun around, a knife already in his hand. When he saw his brother, he straightened and let out a strained laugh. “So…here you are.”

“I am.” Hanzo nodded absently. “You wanted to see me.”

Genji flicked a hand through his hair, a lock landing square in his forehead. He puffed out a breath to blow it out of the way and smiled. “So…. Umm…. I was wondering—?”

“Yes, Genji?”

“Maybe Mai and Blackie could get together? Have dinner together?”

“We did that last night.” Hanzo crossed his arms impatiently. “What do you want?”

“Just to let Mai and Blackie—!”

“That is not her name!” Hanzo growled, trying to keep his voice level. 

Genji took in a deep breath. “Look…. Han, obviously we got off on the wrong foot.” He spread his arms wide. “I just want to…to talk.”

Hanzo grunted again. “We have little to talk about.” He shook his had slightly. “Now…. Do you have something to do? Something to do far from here?”

Genji sighed and Hanzo heard the faint sound of regret. “I…. Brother, this is important. I need information—I want your help.”

Hanzo grunted harshly. “No. Not tonight—.”

“I’ve done everything you wanted!” Genji exclaimed. “Everything. I just…need a little help.”

“You have what you need. You have your butterfly. You have the entire weight of the Shimada clan and the entire Shimada fortune behind you.” Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. “You are a skilled ninja—perhaps one of the best this clan has ever seen. What can there be that you need now that you cannot find or buy?”

“Please, brother!” Genji let out a frustrated chuff. “This is so important to me—!”

“To you or your Mai?” Hanzo shook his head. “She is a distraction. She is for entertainment alone, Genji. Do not forget your duty!”

Genji shook his head sadly, his eyes appearing ever so slightly wet and wounded. “Brother. Just listen to me….”

Hanzo growled angrily. “No. Not…tonight.”

Genji looked at Hanzo for a long moment. Then he looked at the door and again at his brother. He tried to smile, but it was forced. “Dare I hope that you have removed the rather large branch from your hindquarters?”

“What on earth are you saying?”

“Have you removed stick from your ass at last?” Genji’s sarcasm dripped from his words.

“That is the last time I want to hear that from your foul mouth!” Hanzo shouldered past his brother angrily. “Now, will you please leave?!”

“She won’t let me in,” Genji grumbled, waving at the door. “I knocked and she peeked out. She screamed and then slammed the door and locked it.”

Hanzo nodded in a sarcastic sense of satisfaction. “She has a good head on her shoulders.”

Genji puffed out a breath and stalked down the hallway, out of sight. Hanzo nodded in satisfaction and tapped gently on the wood. There was a muffled feminine yelp from the other side. There were whispered words that he couldn’t make out.

“Takara,” he said firmly. “Open the door.” There was a scrabbling from the other side of the door and slowly it unlocked. The door opened a crack and a silver eye peeked out. “There. You see? It is only me.”

She opened the door wider, letting him in nervously and glancing behind him in the hallway. Hanzo smirked a little, watching as she gradually relaxed in seeing no one else behind him. “I…forgive me, Master.” She flushed a little, wringing her hands. “I…. You said.… You said not to listen to him—!”

“And so you locked him out,” he nodded with a whisper of a grin on his face. She was very literal, as Genji had predicted. “Very…interesting.”

She looked up at him with worry still etched on her face. Her eyes were red and she had shed tears this night. Her hands were clenched together and her little—luscious—body was trembling. Her eyes were filled with sorrow and misery, though there was not a single thing he could think of that should trouble her.

“I…he’s angry with me,” she whispered, looking down fearfully. “But after the others—!”

“What?!” He frowned and gently put his hands on her shoulders. She was trying to look at him, but her face kept dipping and fat tears fell down her cheeks. “What ‘others’? What happened?”

She wriggled out of his grasp and walked slowly to his desk. There was a neatly sealed, creamy white envelope sitting on the edge and she brought it to him. “I…I do not know.” She looked terrified and worried and…just like his mother when his father left to do an assassination. “I did my best. They came and were searching. I…hid in your closet, behind the hamper.”

Hanzo flushed darkly. In both the Shimada brothers’ room there was a hidden box just large enough to hide a secret or two. But he hadn’t shown it to her. Again, he needed to—.

The dragons in his skin came whispering in his ear. “Comfort her,” they whispered. “You can make this right…. Make it right.”

He took the envelope silently, curiously. The vellum was heavy in his hands—a plain envelope with undoubtedly a plain, cream colored paper inside it. Inwardly, he cursed. How many times had he delivered envelopes with paper bearing only the seals of the elders, summoning the unlucky or unwise to appear before them to be rebuked by the clan? He had lost count of the envelopes, the summons. And now it only remained to be seen, who was summoning him?

Takara was whispering softly, describing how unnamed others had come, searching the apartments. They had been looking for him, of course, but when they had found her, they had smiled so cunningly it frightened her. Her arms had been twisted back, her flesh pinched and her joints locked and ground until she had shrieked in pain. They laughed at her pain as they told her to give him the message when he returned. 

He wasn’t listening—not all the way—because he had seen this so many times before. The summons was an unavoidable, unspoken curse that lingered in the air like the smell of death. If he refused to show up, they would simply show up in force and drag him to them. If he resisted, then they would only show up here and do what they were going to do before Takara’s horrified eyes. That was, of course, assuming that their collective ire would not be immediately taken out on her. Or Mai. Or Genji. Or all three of them. Genji was strong and could take whatever they dealt out, but the women might be killed.

He nodded silently, opening the envelope and seeing the equally blank vellum with the Shimada crest watermarked on it. His father’s shaky seal was in the bottom right corner—noting him as the one who was issuing the summons. With a wave that was more calm than he felt, he had her sit on the couch and he put the laptop in her lap. A few clicks later, she was in the shopping website, with strict instructions to lock the door behind him and not come out.

“But, what am I to do?” she whimpered softly, wringing her hands.

“Not worry,” he grunted solemnly. “Go find some things.” He waved ineffectually at his head and a vague gesture to the website. “Pick out what you need. A few clothes.” She looked up at him with worry in her eyes. “Have a little fun. Find something…exciting.” She nodded uncertainly and jiggled the mousepad. “My information is in this website already. Make your list, little treasure, and I will approve it when I get back.”

“But…what if you…don’t c-c-come back?”

“Then Genji will come for you,” Hanzo grunted. She was smart—he had to give her that. It didn’t take a sharp wit to figure out things were bad, but she had already figured out what might be the probable outcome. “He will take care of you.” He offered her a small smile. “And then you can talk to him—if you wish.”

Her eyes were wide and fearful and she only nodded. “Now, my orders are to not worry. To go shopping.”

She clicked the mouse softly and the computer let out a soft ding. He nodded and offered her a smile. “What if I do not choose what you like?”

“You are stalling, girl,” he smirked. She looked up at him with a slight pout. “I will approve your choices and, if not, I will…correct you.”

She nodded again, doubt on her face. “Will you be gone long?”

“As long as I need to.” He folded the paper over and over in his hands. “Do not worry.” He brushed off his suit and straightened his tie. “Would you prefer that I send Genji and Mai over now?” 

Her eyes looked up at him uncertainly and he decided for her. Sighing, he gestured to his bedroom. She picked up the computer and went to her corner obediently. Hanzo set the computer on the bedside table and beckoned her over to it. She nodded and began paging through the website again. “Do you know how to lock the computer when you are done?” At her nod, he smiled. “Clever girl. When you have your shopping list, lock it and then get some sleep.” He sent her another strained smile. “And for the love of dragons, please climb in the bed!”

He made a quick call, and within minutes Genji and Mai were at his door. Mai looked up at the fierce face uncertainly, but followed Genji’s hand to go inside. Genji watched with a questioning look as Mai and the other butterfly stared at each other through the open bedroom door. Mai grinned stiffly and sat on the edge of the couch. Hanzo gestured for Takara to continue with a smile and a wave. The black butterfly nodded uncertainly and kept studiously clicking.

Mai leaned over curiously and then looked at Genji. Genji took a single glance at the blank envelope in Hanzo’s hand and nodded grimly, understanding almost perfectly what was going on. Glancing at Mai, he said in a strained voice, “Mai, go talk to Blackie—.”

“That’s not her name,” Hanzo gritted out through his teeth.

Genji’s teeth gritted in return and he whispered, “Then what is?”

“Takara,” Hanzo said softly.

Genji pulled back a bit, looking at him curiously. Finally, he nodded and glanced over at Mai again. “Mai…go keep Takara a bit of company.” Looking at his brother, he sighed heavily. “I’ll—.”

“Stay out here,” Hanzo ordered quietly. “Make sure….” He swallowed heavily. “Keep them safe.” He glanced over at the patient Mai as she stood and crept closer to the other woman nervously. “Let them shop a bit, and make sure that they…they are safe.”

“I’ll guard them with my life,” his brother nodded, closing the door on the two women and locking it. He leaned his back against the door.

“I will hold you to that,” Hanzo promised grimly as a suited servant came down the hallway.

The room that his father’s servant led him to was shrouded in darkness except for the table in the middle. A mixture of old and older faces looked solemnly back at him, with his aged father at the head of the black, lacquered table. Behind the expensive suit coats and on the hand tooled belts were a wealth of hidden pistols and brass knuckles and other weapons. Only the seat at the foot of the table with the back to the door—the seat given to an unlucky and ill-fated inferior—was empty.

Hanzo knew what was coming. He knew it in his bones, saw it in the grim faces around the table, heard it in the complete silence of the room. He even knew that two huge men were standing on either side of the door, silently. He knew his father, despite advancing age and apparently ill health, sat watching him stiffly, waiting.

His parent only looked at him dispassionately. Hanzo looked closely at the older man. His father stared at him as though he were looking at a stranger, an unknown nobody with whom he had no connection. The master of the clan looked ancient, the dark circles under his eyes a pronounced purple and his skin paper thin and sallow. Even though the elder’s hands were folded in his lap, Hanzo felt secretly sure that his father’s hands would shake with age.

“We are waiting for you, Hanzo.”

Hanzo could feel nothing from his dragons. They had been silent and still since the door to his apartments had clicked shut behind Geni’s back. They offered no support that he could feel. But, then again, they offered no rebuke either, so he supposed that was good.

He knew what was expected of him, though. He bowed low to the room and sat in the open chair. He had seen this happen before. A clan rebuke was never a pleasant thing, but his father had insisted that as the heir, he begin witnessing the rare occasions as soon as he had turned nine. His first assassination had been a clan rebuke. He had seen awful things in this room, all in the name of Shimada.

His father sighed wearily. “Do you know why you are here?” Hanzo was silent. Answers were considered a weakness, an attempt to offer excuses for the inexcusable. “It is your responsibility as the Shimada heir to make sure that the clan is successful. That the clan is united. That the clan is led into the future with honor and responsibility.”

The other heads nodded stiffly in agreement.

“What do you think that you are doing?” his father demanded weakly. Hanzo stared at him, never flinching. “First, you allow Genji to run wild. He is like a demon, constantly, with his wild parties, his carelessness, random attacks, and his irresponsibility.

“And his women! Hanzo, as my oldest son, you should not allow him to be so careless, spending hours with his lovers when he should be attending to business. And now! Now he has moved one of them into his apartments and has been taking her around the estate. Hanzo—he should be making a responsible marriage to one of our allies. What kind of marriage will anyone offer when his whore lives in his apartments?! And his wild ways are corrupting you and now you have a whore living in your apartments. What kind of marriage will that make?!”

Hanzo remained silent, facing his father. Where were these morals when his father was visiting prostitutes and his arranged bride was so sad and silent at home with their sons? His father railed on about Genji’s wild lifestyle. How many times had he argued with Genji over these same things?

Then one of the other elders—a distant cousin who was renowned for his tightfisted, conservative views—grunted as his father ran out of breath. “Do you not see how upset you have made the head of the clan?” His Uncle Sora took up the master’s wrist and seemed to take his pulse. “The master should not be made so upset! He has been so ill and now you have caused all this trouble! Why could you have not taken responsibility for Genji and spared your father?”

Kaito snorted, “And now Genji has gone on a crusade killing the Crystal Dragons. Is that how he should act? Can we not count on you, Hanzo, to make sure that he does not create a bigger mess than we can handle?”

Another elder across the table with a tonsure of white hair around his bald head nodded in agreement. “Then to have your younger brother losing money! That is inexcusable.”

Hanzo schooled his features to show no surprise. He had found the discrepancies in the expected numbers and the actual numbers. He had not tracked down the source, yet, but had been confident he would. He had even considered sending Genji after whoever was losing the money. But….was Genji…?

His father coughed roughly and spoke up again in a faint voice. “Perhaps Genji should be punished.” Everyone nodded, even Hanzo managed to give them a small nod. “But it is more important now to address Hanzo.”

“Genji has spent more than he brings in for months,” growled a fat cousin in an all black suit with a crisp black shirt. “He should be bringing in at least twice as much.”

Another cousin added, “At least bringing in more business since that corner laundromat. He must replace what has been lost.”

Sora grimaced. “We have lost a number of businesses’ support recently. The Crystal Dragons took two blocks. But the police have also done raids—.”

His father coughed heavily, his entire frail body jerking, and frowned. “Raids? Raids are not an excuse. Genji is not an excuse.” He looked at Hanzo. “As the Shimada heir, it is your responsibility. Genji is your responsibility. This is all your responsibility. And I expect you to answer for these problems.”

Hanzo’s ears pricked at the slight rustle of cloth behind him—the two goons usually stood at the doorway when this sort of thing happened, only coming forward when they were needed. Two hands clapped on his shoulders roughly. He closed his eyes slowly as those hands began peeling off his jacket, ripping it from his shoulders before tearing off his shirt.

Mai was dozing on the couch, half-watching a cartoon of two overly muscled men fighting over something. The cartoon was laughable, a deep voiced narrator talking about how important this fight was to the universe, but the cartoon marathon had gone on for a few hours and was supposed to be going on until the early hours in the morning. Her master—who insisted on her addressing him by his name of “Genji”—had brought them a pair of trays with a varied supper. There was teriyaki salmon with asparagus, rice balls, bowls of miso soup, and shallow bowls of yellow pickles. Mai had been been fed amazingly since Genji had brought her out of Asahi’s house. Genji had laughed at her the first night, telling her that he wanted her to have some meat on her bones.

It was peculiar, though. Asahi had been most explicit what they were in for—extensive surgeries and injections and then servitude to someone who wanted them for one purpose. That vile man had been lewd when her father had sold her three years ago, telling him about the “customizations” and training, and she had been terrified when she had been picked for the auction. The girls had been dressed and lined up, a smarmy doctor injecting yet another borderline toxic cocktail, making their heads swim and their senses befuddled. She had vaguely—distantly and under the drugs influence—seen the black haired woman. She had tried to refuse the drugs, talking rapidly and smiling as she reasoned with them and finally when Asahi had begun the auction, the doctor had just faded into the background.

But after the auction, nothing that Asahi had said had happened. Instead, Genji had walked back and set some huge gorilla shaped man to watch over her. Asahi’s little doctor had tried to approach Genji, but the tall, slender man had easily shooed him away. She had been a bit afraid when Genji had been pulled back into the auction room, but the guard had stayed there, standing over her silently until he returned. Then he had swept her up off her feet and carried her to the parlor, whispering silly things to her.

Since then, he had made sure she ate well. She had spent the entire first day sleeping and waking up only to eat. He said it was to “clear her system”, but she was sure that he liked tucking the sheets around her. She had finally gotten the sedatives out of her system, waking up with energy and a sour taste in her mouth and Genji sitting up in the bed with his laptop on his lap and a list of things to buy for her—some pajamas, some underwear, a few books, necessities, a lacy dress that she wore nowhere, another satin dress that was worn nowhere, and some sweats for when he took her to the room that appeared to be a gym. Every morning it seemed there was another box that held something for her.

And he never touched her. He had carried her in his arms, obviously, and had sat next to her on the couch. But there was nothing lewd or obscene—he flirted outrageously, but it felt more like an older brother’s teasing rather than an older man interested in fucking her. He had let her call her father, held her when her father growled at her and hung up on her, let her cry on his rather broad shoulder. He laughed and told her that she needed to be at least a little older before he was “for real”.

But then he had told her about the woman he irreverently called “Blackie” behind his brother’s back. He had hoped, on some level, to give her someone to talk to. Someone who could relate to her experiences, he had decreed with a ridiculous face, would be good for her. But it had been weeks before she had been “ready”, and now the other woman was as isolated from her as much as if she had been on the moon. His brother had not let the woman out of his apartments at all, refused her invitations to join them for meals, anything. It was only because of Genji’s insistence that the movie night had happened.

Mai’s mouth had run dry when her master told her to get dressed for a movie night with his brother. Genji told her that Blackie—Takara—had been…modified. She had thought about it, tried to imaging what someone who had been “customized” might look like. She had pictured overwhelming breasts like soccer balls and a pencil thin waist and a butt that you could put drinks on. Maybe with her black hair bleached blonde and her lips puffed like a duck’s beak. She had almost wanted her breasts to be puffed up, some kind of curves, because Genji…well, such an almost-nice guy (if you ignored his current profession) deserved a perfect woman. For a few brief minutes, she had been jealous that she hadn’t been worked on.

Then they had walked into the older brother’s apartment. She had expected a gorgeous woman—someone who dripped sensuality and would make a centerfold glow green with envy—but ultimately figured that it would be someone in a similar situation to her.

It was not.

Hanzo had been standing over her, bare to his waist and gleaming with a light glow of sweat. A heavy belt swung through the air like the hiss of a snake. He had been shouting, his voice bellowing like the roar of a lion through a megaphone. With the snarl on his face, he hadn’t even heard them knock or come in as he stood over the woman. She had whimpered, trying to peek over Genji’s too tall shoulder. He tried to protect her, but she had gotten one good look at the black butterfly.

She was breathtaking—a living, breathing homage to sexuality. But she was naked, her knees crinkled with kneeling on the carpet. She was terrified, curled up for a beating, and Mai had felt sudden and overwhelming pity and no small amount of nausea. They both knew she was going to be hit, probably hurt terribly, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Nothing anyone could do about it.

That man had shoved her master and her out into the sitting room. Then the apartment had gone utterly quiet. She was trying to say nothing, to do nothing, but it had taken all her strength to not at least try to get into that bedroom and fight for her sister butterfly. Genji had wrapped her in his arms, leading her to the couch and holding her as they tried not to listen for the sounds of the beating.

She remembered gasping, her body futilely grasping for air. Genji had wrapped his arms—those whipcord strong arms she liked to look at—around her and whispered, “She—. He—.”

Mai had looked at him, tears running down her cheeks and flowing down her face. She thought distantly she was glad that she had already cleaned the day’s makeup off her face or she’d look like an advertisement for a leaky fountain pen. “Please, please go and help her!”

Genji pulled her closer and buried her face against his chest. “Baby…I can’t. He’s been pushed to the limit.” She sobbed into his shoulder as he pushed her down to the couch. “Don’t worry. If—if she’s too hurt—!”

Mai looked up at him desperately. “If?!” Sadly, she had slipped to the floor, kneeling in front of him. “There is no ‘if’. Did you see him? Did you see that belt? He—he may kill her.”

Genji had sighed, his eyes wet and worried. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re safe.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know how yet, but you’re gonna be safe and you won’t ever have to worry about beatings ever again.” With a quick pull, she was beside him on the couch, still cuddled close. “I won’t lose you like I lost Ichika. Like I lost…Yui.”

Moments had stretched out and there was nothing and that scared her more because no one knew better than her how terrible silent punishments could be. And then the other woman came out covered only in a man’s t-shirt that covered her entire torso and her arms down to her elbows. Mai’s imagination had run wild as she imagined the bruises and clamps and bites that t-shirt could cover.

Mai had buried her attention in the silly Godzilla movie. Genji was almost childish in picking out a movie he deemed “right for her age” and she had desperately needed to have something other than Takara to think about. The elder brother didn’t even get her a chair or a pillow, just letting her kneel on the floor as he idly petted her. At least he ordered snacks—apparently an unheard of break in his normal behavior—and Mai had seen that she barely ate, her hair hadn’t been conditioned and was tangled around her shoulders.

Mai knew it was easier to eat just a little so that you didn’t throw up when you were anticipating a beating.

The little black butterfly hadn’t said much since Genji had brought her here and the men had locked them in together. She looked a little shocked and afraid, but was picking out some bits and pieces from an internet site. Mai had knelt beside her, pointing out a better comb, a more expensive nightie, a makeup kit, but the other woman had only trembled. Shaking her head, she had consistently put the absolute cheapest and smallest things in the internet shopping cart. Then there was only one long t-shirt nightshirt, a single lacy bra in black with a matching thong in such a horribly cheap pattern that Mai itched looking at it, and a pair of yoga pants that were marked down and “one size fits many”. Then, with a silent look, she had locked the computer and timidly approached the bed.

Mai had sat down on the floor. “You know…he’s probably not going to mind if you get stuff that’s actually flattering?”

The black butterfly shook her head, glancing at the computer. “I don’t want to be a problem for him.”

“Don’t you think he’ll be more mad if he has to redo it all?”

“Hey, I’m very lucky,” Takara whispered. “I don’t want to ruin it.” She shrugged a little weakly. “I am not getting beaten or drugged or anything.” She had smiled sadly. “I am probably the luckiest butterfly in the world since I am treated so well.” With a weary glance at the other woman, she added, “Maybe the second luckiest.”

Mai had combed Takara’s hair with her fingers a little, but the other woman had only looked at her sadly and silently curled into a tiny knot with her head on the bed. Mai had sighed, hoping that somehow, things would work out. Finally, after minutes of silence and stillness, Mai had given up—this was too much for her to deal with and she 14 for crying out loud—and went to the front room to wait. At least that monster had a working television, but it had taken a few times to find the exact drawer he had stashed the remote in. It rubbed Mai wrong—everything was folded precisely, put away in neat stacks, and sorted or categorized to an agonizing extent to show exactly that only one person had ever lived here.

An amazingly OCD person.

Mai was about to give up entirely, to knock on the door and beg Genji to let her go back to their apartments where she could at least play on his video games, when she heard voices. They were harsh and hurried and there was a tremendous crashing thud out in the hall. Genji’s voice was harsh in return.

Mai snapped up and bolted to the bedroom. The black butterfly’s eyes flickered open, but then had hooded shut. “Something’s going on out here!” Mai whispered.

The other woman snapped up and smoothed the bedsheets. Mai’s eyes flickered with pity again as she wiped out any sign that she had been near the bed. How terrible…. But the butterfly was quick and leapt out of the room.

They were interrupted as Genji opened the door, cursing profanely under his breath. Hanzo’s larger form was crumpled over his shoulders, his head bowed and bobbing loosely with a split lip dropping blood onto the carpet. His broad, muscular shoulders and back were smeared with lines of blue and purple and thinner traces of blood that zigzagged everywhere.

Genji’s eyes glittered with anger, and even Mai knew not to speak. He wouldn’t mean to snap at them, but he was driven to the edge. The black butterfly, by rights, should have been paralyzed with fear, but pushed under the other shoulder and helped get the giant man to the bed. They laid Hanzo down on his belly and Mai turned his head gently.

Then the butterfly was there. She took out towels, washed down the wounds, fetched the last ice cubes from their drinks from dinner and began digging the shredded remains of his shirt out from his pants. Mai felt his forehead—he was in shock and his skin was clammy, but such a horrible beating could only lead to fever. She looked at the woman sadly as that one dug in the cabinets of the bathroom and retrieved a small first aid kit.

They used all of it—the bandages and the pain relieving ointment and the whole bottle of rubbing alcohol. He had roused enough to take some pills with a swallow of water, but his eyes were glassy and Mai didn’t know how he stayed upright at all. Takara looked solemnly at his back and then helped him out of his belt and shoes and socks. The women ducked to hear Genji’s voice rise angrily and then hush, but Takara managed to get her master up long enough to get out of the stained and torn clothes, holding a bed sheet between him and Mai as he slid on a loose pair of cotton pants with a drawstring waist.

Takara guided him into his bed, wrapping the sheet around his waist. Then, so softly that Mai had to strain to hear her, she whispered, “Please… Could your master get us a pitcher of ice water? Some extra towels?” She looked down gravely at the patched up back of her master, then back at Mai. “You know what I need.”

Mai nodded dumbly. Then, with a cock of her head and a worried glance as the outer door to the apartment opened and shut, she whispered back, “I’ll ask, but why don’t you talk to him?”

Takara looked up at her with an ashen face. “I’ve been forbidden to.”

“Oh.”

“Please,” she insisted. “Please go ask him. We have both seen what happens if a beating isn’t taken care of.” She looked at the costly t-shirt and brand name shorts the other woman wore and swallowed, dropping to her knees as a matter of course. It looked like she was…almost free. Takara’s face was chalk white at she stared at Mai. “Please. Don’t let him die….”

“He won’t die,” Mai whispered hopefully. Her voice wavered as the other knelt. She wasn’t free, not like…not like all this. “He won’t. He’s too strong.”

The black butterfly was already moving, collecting the tiny trash can from the bathroom and dropping washcloths and cold water into it. She came back and began swabbing the wounds with the cold water. She didn’t look up, just looked at the cloth and her master’s faint shuddering. “I…I hope not.”

“Look,” Mai began reasonably as she picked up the trash—the bandage wrappers and the cotton balls and gauze. “Tell Genji. At least, figure out how to call him…. He’s a really nice guy.”

Takara looked at her solemnly and firmly whispered, “I can’t.” She nodded at Hanzo’s back as she stopped to dim the lights. “I couldn’t live through that.”

Mai swallowed heavily. There was no way either of them would live through a beating like that. It was a miracle that he had. “I’ll ask him—tell him what you need. But you gotta promise me that you’ll talk to Genji.”

Takara knelt beside the bed. “I can’t. You know why.”

“But he’s trying to get evidence,” Mai whispered softly. Her companion looked up—both scared and intrigued at the same time. “He wants to take Asahi down so that no one else gets trashed like us.” She whispered in frustration, “Don’t you see that we’re the lucky ones? How many butterflies have been sold? How many have been ‘customized’ and died on the tables? How many of them died the first night with their owners? The first week? You have to see that talking to Genji is our only chance to stop that from happening!”

“Don’t say any more,” Takara snapped angrily. “If you and he are happy, then congratulations. But…Asahi is unstoppable. And even if Asahi goes down, there will be another perverted creep out there doing the exact same thing.” She pointed to the door. “Now…please leave.”

Mai sighed and walked out. Genji was pacing in the sitting area and seemed startled when she came out and slid the bedroom doorway closed. “So what are the damages?” he asked.

There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or humor in his tone, for once. Mai shuddered, looking for a moment at the boiling rage that streaked his face red and made his eyes practically glow. Then she whispered, “I…what happened?”

“He was…punished by the clan,” Genji whispered. Mai was shocked into silence. “He got out lightly—with a beating—and that’s a good thing. Otherwise I’d be the Shimada heir and I’d be lucky to last a week.”

Mai shook her head. “But why?”

“Because,” he whispered shortly. “The entire council of elders—my father, his brothers and their sons—have a collective forest up their collective asses. If I became the heir, I’d suddenly have to be all duty and respect and honor and getting married to the right girl and become the biggest target the clan has ever known.” He seemed to straighten a bit. “But, did Blackie—Takara, sorry—listen to you? Will she help us?”

Mai shrugged sadly. “She says it’s hopeless.”

His eyes glittered again as he looked to the closed bedroom door and back to Mai. “Then we’ll have to prove it isn’t.” He tried to smile, but it came out as a lame grimace. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But how will you prove the medical stuff? The illegal Omnic tech? The illegal use of nanites? Without her help and her proof, we’ve got nothing.”

“I’ll take care of it, Mai,” Genji whispered softly. “If the worst happens, we’ll take the money and I’ll grab some of her hair and blood and we’ll book to Switzerland.”

“Why there?”

Genji sighed heavily. “Because if Hanzo goes down, we’ll need to evacuate and Overwatch will probably be the only group that can help.” He tried again to smirk. “So what does she need?”

The next days were a blurry delirium. Hanzo felt like he was drowning in heat. His dragons roars and whispers were faint rumbles and he felt like he was being roasted alive. Takara was close at hand, bringing him pills and endless cups of water and clear tea to sip. She drifted in and out like a wraith.

And he was surrounded by wraiths. Ichika was back with her doll, staring at him. Yui was there too, holding an empty piece of cardboard and shouting to come get the imaginary sweets. His father’s voice danced around like a foul smell and stinging swords cut into his skin. Then the little butterfly would be close and the others would fade into darkness as she dabbed cold cloths to his face and neck, wringing them out and applying them again.

He could hear his brother’s voice, laughing, as though from a distance. Genji was always laughing, but now it was a demon’s howl. His butterfly held his hand, kissing it, as his mama whispered to him that dragons only went with superior men.

“Mother, do not go,” his whispered, his lips cracked and stinging.

“I’m not going far,” she replied. “And your dragons are here for company. What nine year old is afraid of the dark?”

“But I do not want you to leave, Mother,” he begged.

His father appeared. “Your mother is dead. She died like a whore in front of the offices downtown.” His voice faded out. “She was terrible—too soft on you. Another beating will help that!”

His first archery master appeared. “I’ll beat some sense into you, whelp.”

Takara put a cup to his lips. “Please drink, master.”

He sighed and took a hesitant sip. “Whelp,” he whispered to her.

Young Genji was there, laughing and crawling into the dark clothes. “Let’s go out and play with Yui and the others. They want to play behind the noodle shop.”

He shook his head. “Father will go crazy. He said that if he caught us going out again that he would beat us. He is going to lock us in our rooms if he finds out.”

“So don’t let him find out,” Genji grinned, looking like a tremendously young urchin in his raggedly clothes. “Come on big brother. We can’t play family if you’re not going to play the Father.”

“No, Genji. We have responsibilities—!”

“I’ll scream right now if you don’t! The guards will come to see what’s happening and you’ll be in trouble!”

“All right, Genji! But only for a little while.”

“What do you mean, leading Genji out to play in an alley with a bunch of raggedy urchins?!”

“Father! No—I mean—!”

“You are responsible for Genji since your mother died. Is that too much to ask?!” His father raised a hand to strike him again. “Maybe I should just throw you out and keep Genji if you’re going to be useless!”

“But I am not useless!”

Mother stroked his hair. “Of course not, my son. No one said you were.”

“Father said it. He always says it! Why not leave this place?!”

“Your mother is a whore. A dead whore. And you are a worthless son who can’t keep track of one valueless boy.”

Hanzo felt the dragons rumble painfully under his shoulder. “Genji is not!”

“He’s a spare heir,” his father yelled. “The one thing your mother did right.”

The archery master stood in front of his, smacking his hands with a wooden rod until he gripped the bow correctly and managed to get it strung and muttering how he should know this by now. Hanzo gritted his teeth, knowing that if he cried, his father would give him another beating. Finally, he got it right and pulled the string, only to see that it was wrapped around his brother’s neck.

There was blood everywhere. Takara helped him roll over and wiped it off of his hands, murmuring softly. Genji stood, watching over her shoulder. His father came in screaming at them all, and his mother was sobbing over his bed. He pushed on the bed hard, only to feel the goons beating him, holding him down again with their bamboo sticks whistling through the air.

He growled slightly as he tried to sit up and his father grunted at him. “Your worthless whore ran away like your mother.” 

He looked around and there was no sign of her. “Takara!” His voice was hoarse. 

Young Genji laughed at him. “Come out and play, Hanzo. We can’t do it without you!”

“Not again, Genji. Please. Please behave. I cannot take this!”

His father growled. “You can’t take this? Then you’ll keep on taking this until you are stronger, better.” Again long thin bamboo rods whistled through the air. “And we’ll get your little Takara next, boy.”

“Not her. Genji! Protect her!”

“I want to go out and play! Come on!”

“Genji—I cannot do this. You have to help me. I am so tired. Why can you not behave just a little? Father is so mad when you misbehave.” Genji’s eyes seemed to flicker like green gems as his dragons danced around. “There are conditions. If I get you a butterfly, will you at last behave? Will you take responsibility? Will you do the right thing?”

“Only if you get one, too.”

“Just work at the business. 8 hours a day is fair, is it not?”

“I’m only young once.”

Asahi appeared with papers flying around him like feathers. “Butterflies! Butterflies! Everyone needs a butterfly!”

Hanzo growled. “Do not hurt her. Just feed her.” The colorful man shook his head coyly. “Do not hurt her. She wants to be beautiful. She wants to be strong—so strong. Why are you asking me, Takara? I can barely protect Genji—I can not help you, too.”

“I want to be strong. I want to be fast.” She seemed to be crying. “I want to be beautiful.”

He trembled weakly. “I cannot take this. I want your body, but Asahi will not let you go without customizations.”

Asahi whimpered and simpered. “She can be beautiful, Honored Sir. Just tell me what she should look like?”

His voice seemed hoarse and whispery. “She is beautiful already.”

His mother patted his head, dabbing a cool cloth across his head. “Oh? Are you getting married?”

Genji appeared, shaking and thin as a youth. “Did you see what happened? Yui and Ichika are gone. Why did this happen, Hanzo? Are we cursed? Can’t we protect them?”

“Cursed! Cursed!” the council of elders shouted.

“We are stronger than this. We are not going to get hurt,” Hanzo whispered.

“But everyone is gone. They are all killed. All we do is hurt people. Why can’t we take the entire clan down? We can do it from the inside like bugs in a tree.”

“It is complicated, Genji. There are so many people—so many angles and so many ways to get caught and you and Mai are going to go away like Yui and Ichika and Yoshi and Aiko did.”

“You said that we were going to do this, take it down so that no one else gets hurt like we were.”

Takara brought him a cup of thin tea. “Master, drink, please.”

He took a sip. “It is sweet.”

“With honey, Master.”

Genji popped up. “Aiko and Yoshi are gone. I’m going to disappear too. We are all doomed.”

“Drink, Master.” Takara’s cool hand brushed his brow.

Genji pouted. “I want to give them some real mizu yokans. Real food. Aiko hasn’t ever had one and we get them all the time.”

“He is going to beat me again if there’s more sweets missing, Genji,” Hanzo moaned. “I am responsible for you.”

Takara sat by him. There was one of the mizu yokan in her hands—a deep red slice of sweetness with a golden chestnut in it. “Please, Master, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Asahi appeared, his purple and blue robes dripping with scarlet at the hems. “Let me show you the butterfly, Hanzo!”

Then there she was again, her breasts like enormous beach balls and her waist tiny like a wasp’s and her hips distorted. She had a hideous face—her lips puffed like they were stung by bees and her eyes huge like a cows and her hair sticking out in spikes covered with glitter. A tail dripped behind her and it was covered in green scales.

“You did this to me, Master!” She sighed and wriggled, looking like her bust was going to fall over like a top.

“Yes! You did this Hanzo!” His father laughed and coughed heavily, blood spitting out of his mouth. “What did you think you were good for? The Shimada bloodline must go on!” She appeared again. Her body was distorted more, her belly swollen and the proportions even more unbalanced. “I don’t need you anymore, Hanzo.”

“I will….” Hanzo closed his eyes, reaching for her. “Cherish my treasure.”

The room was cool and dusky dark and the blue walls seemed to be fuzzy. Hanzo coughed, his mouth stinging with the effort. He squeezed his hands into fists and they ached and seemed to be sluggish. Even pushing over on his side was an immense effort.

There was a whisper of sound and Takara seemed to appear from the shadows of the room. Hanzo wanted to smile, but one look at her stole his breath. There were dark shadows under her eyes like purple pools and there were bags, too. Her hair was a tangled mess, sweaty and lank, and she swayed a little uncertainly as she walked to the side of the bed. Her hands shook as she reached to stroke his forehead.

“Little butterfly,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and his throat was sore. “Why are you not—?”

“I’m sorry, Master,” she flushed, kneeling down by the bedside. “Do you want something to drink?”

Hanzo’s eyes closed as her cool hands brushed his brow and pushed his errant hair back from his face. “That feels good,” he murmured. She let out a sound and did it again. “My mother used to do that….”

“Your fever has gone down a little,” she whispered. She laid her head down on the bedside wearily, petting his head. “Can you move?”

Hanzo grunted. His body did not seem to want to roll over. But the dragons were silent and there were no more wraiths. He reached for her hands. “Do not disappear again.”

“Again?” Takara’s head tilted a bit as her gray eyes watched him curiously. With a bit of a shimmy, she seemed to shake herself awake. “If you can roll a little, I can change the sheets.”

Hanzo opened his mouth to say something and then sneezed. “What has happened, Takara?” He sniffed. “The sheets…reek.”

She nodded and went to his closet. There was a spare set of sheets and she pulled up the old sheets around him. She put the sheets around two corners and pulled them as tight against him as she dared. He groaned, but managed to roll onto the clean sheets. Then she pulled the old sheets off and finished making the bed.

“Better, Master?” she smiled wearily.

He nodded. His hands shook and he saw where thin bandages had been wrapped around them. It was less difficult for her to get a fresh set of pants on him, but he hissed when she tried to tighten them around his waist.

With a wet cloth, she wiped his face and hair, drawing wide bands of cooling wet down his chest and back. She pulled away when her cloth was too warm. He actually whimpered as she left the bedside, but she returned quickly with a tray with a pitcher of ice water and cups, another bowl of cold water, and small packets of pills.

“What is this, butterfly?” He tried to laugh, but his ribs felt like they were on fire. “Are you a nurse as well?”

She looked at him worriedly. Setting the tray on his bedside table, she felt his forehead again. “Perhaps you are feverish?” She cocked her head. “But here are some pills. They should help.”

She tore open the package and he swallowed them, drinking the entire glass of water. The ice burrowed down his throat, quenching the rough dryness he felt there. He waved the glass and she refilled it. A third glass followed those two. Finally, he felt like he was again part of the living.

“What time is it? Where is my phone?” The butterfly brought him his phone with a worried look on her face. The screen remained dark as he tried pressing the buttons. “I always charge this in the morning, during my meetings.” He cocked an eye towards her. “What…?”

She frowned and shrugged a little. “You have been sick for four days, Master.”

He blinked uncertainly. “Four days?!”

She nodded, watching him. “Master…. I…. Genji—I mean, Master Genji, brought you here. It’s been four days, as far as I can tell, and you’ve been burning with fever.”

Hanzo nodded uncertainly. “And you, little butterfly?” She shrugged. He glanced around, then instantly regretted it as his head swam. “What has happened to you?!”

She bit her lip and looked up at him sorrowfully. “I’m sorry, Master.” She brought out a small plate with three mizo yokan on it. “You kept asking about these…. If you give me permission, I will call Master Genji….” He shrugged a little. The sweets melted to nothing in his mouth and he took another swallow of water. Glancing at his bandaged hands and feet, he looked at her in confusion. “We butterflies…I know that beatings can make you sick and I…I didn’t know if your hands and feet were hurt too.”

He nodded. “Go fetch the phone, Takara.” He grimaced. “I’ll tell Genji to bring us some food.”

She brought him the cordless house phone silently. He rapped out some orders to Genji’s voicemail and then tossed it to the floor. Of course, his butterfly picked it up and put it back precisely where he normally left it.

He looked at her. Some few bruises darkened her skin and she was still weary. “Did I not order you some things? A brush at least?” He frowned. “Genji will be bringing us some food, and I do not want him seeing you like that….”

Her shoulders shook in a small giggle. “I…I am fine. Just sleepy.”

He let out a puff that was as close to a chuckle as his ribs would allow. “Then go bathe and come back to bed.”

She showered quickly, as though she were out of time. Returning quickly, she ran her fingers over his brow, uncertainly. “The fever is still there, but not so high.”

“Did you think it would come back?”

“It did….once.”

“I am…for better or worse….still alive.” Hanzo gritted his teeth and pushed hard against the mattress. He managed to slide over a few inches at least. “So you can come here.” She perched on the edge of the bed, watching him. “What happened to you? You have bruises?”

She flushed darkly. “Sometimes you seemed to be beating back demons. A few times you told me to come over and then you pushed me back and I wasn’t fast…enough….”

His eyes went a bit wide. “I am well enough not to hurt you now.” He looked at the wet, tangled mass of black hair. “Why don’t you…amuse me…by brushing out your hair?”

She started a little. “But…there’s only your comb.”

“Amuse me.”

She nodded slowly and brought out his comb. With careful strokes, she pulled the comb through her hair, taming it into the smooth curtain of ebony Hanzo liked. When she was done, she yanked the hair out of the comb, cleaning it thoroughly.

Hanzo grunted and reached out. Without hesitation, she put the comb in his hand and he tossed it on the table. “Now sleep until my brother comes, butterfly.” He flushed a little. “I will be more careful now.”

She shook her head. “Just sleep. I’ll be close.” She looked at the packets of pills meaningfully. “Master Genji brought those. They help you sleep.” She scrunched her nose a bit and tried to smile. “You snore.”

He frowned. “Genji brought those?” With a weary sigh, he closed his eyes. “Then when I get up, I will wring his neck.” One eye cracked open to see her cuddling a pillow in her corner. “And do not ever again accept anything from Genji without telling me first and getting my permission.”

She looked up at him with a frown. “But Master Genji brought a doctor. I thought that it was okay since the doctor gave him two packets and then the next ones look the same.” She yawned and curled into a knot. “I will be more careful next time, Master.”

“Genji brought a doctor in here? With you?” Hanzo felt anger flush through him. How dare he?!

She knelt on her knees. “You were…so sick. I didn’t speak to him, I swear. I went to the bathroom, turned off the lights and hid. Master Genji closed the bathroom door. I listened at the door to what they said, but I didn’t speak.”

She looked like a lost puppy and Hanzo sighed. This had only become more and more complicated. But he could hear a soft muttering of the dragons—they agreed with her—and that was enough for now. “Do not let it happen again.” She nodded eagerly. “Now sleep. If you hear Genji knock, wake me up. Do not go yourself.” He looked at her through one weary eye. “And cover yourself. Wear another one of my t-shirts.”

Then the world spun into darkness. There was nothing for hours except the dark and silence and the slow, silent purring of his dragons. Sleep was best for this—sleep and to let the dragons’ energy flow through his body and gently renew it.

Of course, such bliss could not last the night. Genji came in a few hours later and dutifully Takara woke him up. The doctor’s drugs made him a bit dizzy and his back and sides ached and there was a distinct buzzing of the dragons on his shoulder, but he managed to drag himself to the apartment door and take the tray. Takara helped him back into bed the instant that Hanzo closed the door and sat the tray on his lap.

Hanzo’s head lolled a bit loosely on his shoulders. “I will not be awake for long, butterfly.” He gestured at the tray. “Why not fly closer?”

She nodded and began feeding him. Her hands drifted over his forehead and down his chest quickly and she whispered, “Your fever is back. But it’s not so high…. Here, eat a little more and you can sleep, Master.”

“I am cold,” he muttered petulantly, taking a bite of pickled vegetables.

“I’ll get you a shirt.”

With a lot of patience and pushing and prodding, Hanzo managed to eat his meal—most of it, anyway—and get into a shirt. His steps wobbled and he felt kitten weak as he managed to make it to the bathroom and then flop back into the bed. Then Takara was there, spooning warm soup into his mouth.

“Eat something,” he ordered sleepily. “I want you to eat something.”

“As you wish,” she smiled. She popped a few morsels into her mouth and patted his brow. “You’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he muttered, feeling sleep come back up to claim him. “I have the Shimada dragons, after all.”

Takara cocked her head at him and nodded. “I-I-I…. I saw them—your dragons.”

“Oh?” He smirked indulgently. “When?”

She looked at him, her hand flickering over his tattoo. “I-it’s not th-th-their fault. You were…calling out and then—whoosh!” Her arms spread wide. “They came out and curled around you.”

He grinned. “Did they?”

She nodded shyly. “They…they didn’t understand that I was a friend, I think.” She shrugged. “They growled a little, but when I came back with more tea and water, they—.” She giggled a little nervously. “They drank the tea and then tried to get the sweets.”

“They like their sweets,” Hanzo muttered wearily. “Then what happened?”

“I…I guess they decided that I was not so bad and they laid on you like cats and growled when I got up to get…well, anything.” She looked at him curiously. “Then, all at once, they vanished again.”

Almost asleep again, she gave him another pair of pills and cleared away the meal. Her stomach lurched and she felt ill, seeing the maze of green and purple along his body, but she swallowed heavily and put the tray in the outer room. Then, with resolution, she laid down in her corner to count the minutes until she could sleep.

The next day, Hanzo managed to get his laptop and his phone and their chargers into the bedroom. Takara kept bringing him water, her cool hands drifting across his head and easing his headaches, giving him massages and in general trying to be as quiet as possible. At lunch, Hanzo got her onto the bed beside him and looked at her shopping list.

“Little butterfly,” he whispered. “Has the world gone mad in my absence? Surely there were better things available before.” He emptied the online shopping cart and began pulling up her searches. “See? This is a heavy comb for suitable for long hair.”

“It costs over a hundred yen, Master,” she protested.

“It should. It is carved wood like mine.” He looked at the next item she had searched for—the lacy bra and thong. “I do not care for this. It looks cheap.” He clicked away and picked out another set in silk and then another set in satin. “And then some shampoo and soap. And a toothbrush.”

He clicked away, showing her his purchases. It was a bit extravagant—a peignoir set of satin with a gown and a matching robe, a pair of Brookstone bedroom slippers and a pair of Frederick’s of Hollywood mules with some fluff on the toes, hand-mixed shampoo and conditioner from some exotic company, a toiletry kit of a tortoise shell comb, a brush, hand mirror and makeup brushes, and then some regular items including a pink toothbrush.

She yawned softly, curled against his side as he confirmed his order. “Still sleepy?” he asked. “Then you should take a nap. Genji will bumble in here soon enough with dinner.” She pulled up to go to her corner, and he tucked her in carefully with a small, satisfied shake of his head. “Stay here. I need a bit of a nap as well.”

Of course, because he wanted to sleep, he couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted, and dropped off almost as soon as he had tucked her in. The dragons wouldn’t let him sleep—they were buzzing like static against his skin. They could sense that he was still not well and his inner conflict to get back to business as soon as possible, but until he summoned them, they could not come out. So, they, in their silent, mental way, complained about it like a nagging fishwife. He kept considering getting up, then his aching shoulders and then the complaints of his dragons in a whirl of thoughts until his mind was dizzy enough to shut down.

He slept late as the fever returned. The medicines kept knocking him out. When he did manage to wake up enough, his mouth felt foul and he ached in just about every muscle. He tried to work, at least to answer emails. Takara turned into a drill sergeant, bringing him water and medicines every six hours, per the doctor’s orders. She changed the bandages, wiping him down with cool cloths and smearing his back with ointment.

She looked terrible. Hanzo saw her growing more exhausted the longer his fever raged, but felt like he could only watch her. He wanted to be up, but the medicines, and now the herbs that whatever experts his father consulted has passed along, continued to make him dizzy and feel sluggish.

Genji showed up, causing Takara to flee into the bathroom and lock the door. If Genji was at all contrite or embarrassed, he never showed it. He only snorted with laughter at the sound of the lock and the sudden flicker as the lights went off. Taking the box out from under his arm, he put it down on the foot of the bed.

“What do you want, Genji?” Hanzo rasped out.

“That’s some thanks for picking up your mail,” he smiled.

Hanzo glared at him. “What. Do. You. Want?”

“So when will I be allowed to actually be in her presence?” He smirked. “I’m really not a threat to her.” Hanzo rolled his eyes in disbelief and Genji calmly took out a small pocket knife and slit opened the box. Without pause, he picked through it. The toothbrush and other items spilled out and Genji picked up the lacy nightgown. “I somehow don’t think that this is going to fit you.”

Hanzo couldn’t resist laughing a little. That was Genji—always quick with a crack or a joke. No matter what happened, he had a joke about it. When their mother died, it was Genji who had been the first to crack a smile again. Days before he had even felt like grinning, Genji had somehow found a whoopee cushion and was playing jokes.

But this time, as Hanzo watched him, he saw Genji frown, fingering the lace. “Look, Han, what the hell happened?”

Hanzo took the tumbler from his bedside table. He tried to shrug, but there was still a dark bruise across his shoulders and he couldn’t move them. “I was…punished,” Hanzo whispered seriously. There was a soft sound from the bathroom and he ignored it. He shot a dark look to his brother. “You know how this works.”

Genji sighed and nodded. Even as the spare heir, he hadn’t been shielded from that aspect of the Shimada business. Then he looked up at Hanzo, with a little confusion. “But…why?”

Hanzo could help it. He glared at his younger brother and all but yelled, “If you really cared about this, then you would not do half the stuff that I have let you get by with.” He chugged the last of the ice water and set the tumbler down with exaggerated care. “If you ever cared about anything other than whatever party you were going to and whatever toy you wanted at that moment, then you would do things like show up to meetings on time, handle the business like a business and not your own piggy bank, and you sure as hell would not—!”

Genji nodded sadly. “I know. I know.” He sighed. “I’m the world’s biggest disappointment. What else is new?” He shrugged in agreement before looking up at his brother with a strangely hopeful expression. “But…we could change it.”

“No, Genji. You could change. You could be the son that father wants. You could be the brother that I need.” Hanzo wanted to hit him, wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face, but he was sure that Takara would resent her careful poultices and bandages being disturbed. “But you have never been either and you have never, ever cared about anything more than yourself.”

Genji looked up at him sadly. Then, with the deliberate grace that seemed to show a broken heart, he peeled off his suit coat and shirt, dropping them on the floor. Gracefully, he turned and Hanzo just stared.

Genji’s back was almost as littered with scars as his own. They were all old—thin lines of raised, knobby flesh and a few that must have been very deep because they were sunken lines. With his head bowed, he scooped up his clothes and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah…. Lovely aren’t they?” He shrugged. “So, you are just amazed at my good looks, huh?”

He shrugged again. “So Mai wants us to try to get together again sometime.” He pulled on his shirt. “I’ll tell her it’s off. Maybe I’ll tell her that you’re still laid up.” Genji looked at the closed bathroom door. “Let your little butterfly out. I’m going.”

Hanzo watched his brother for a moment more. “What is your game Genji?”

He grunted, fiddling with the buttons. “Maybe later, huh? Mai is worried about me. She thinks that somehow thinks that things are coming to a head and that we need to move. And move fast.”

“What are you thinking of doing?”

Genji whirled and buttoned his shirt, tucking it in absently. “Oh…something heroic, I guess.”

“Heroic?” Hanzo let out a short laugh. “I do not think that we are on the heroic side.”

“Always the realist, Han,” Genji snorted. “Never looking at what could happen.” He nodded—Hanzo had always been this way. “Nice to know the odds.” He sauntered over to tap on the bathroom door. “Hey, Takara! I’m leaving now. You can come out. Do your thing—maybe some Shiatsu.” He glanced over at the bed as he fastened his cuffs as he walked out. “Get well soon, brother.”

Hanzo grunted, suddenly exhausted again. The knob rattled and Takara poked her head out cautiously. “Come out…. He is gone.”

She did, coming out cautiously and looking around. With nervous steps, she approached the bed and looked him over carefully. She mewled softly, her fingers running over him lightly as she checked the bandages.

He smiled—more for her than for anything else. “I am fine. We just talked.”

She glared at the empty bedroom doorway angrily. For a moment, she just shook, her tiny hands balled into fists and her shoulder bunched.

“Calm down, little butterfly.” Hanzo petted the bed beside him. “At least he brought the mail.” She looked over at him and then nodded slowly. Coming over, she knelt beside the bed. He nudged the items and the box with his leg. “Look inside.”

She did, slowly unpacking everything and putting it where he directed. There was a place for everything in his mind and everything went into its place. Her face said that she was clearly humoring him, but when he tried to stand, she instantly ran over and began to pat his body, getting him to sit down on the bed again.

So, for the next day, he allowed her to attend him. She ran him hot baths in the deep tub, massaged his muscles, brushed his bruises with an ice pack, and brought him drinks. It was soothing and numbing, and Hanzo didn’t feel the need to speak much. She looked even more lovely now that she had proper tools—a deep red lipstick, some proper shampoo and conditioner, her own toothbrush and combs—but she still was weary with all the care he needed.

He felt it too. Every strike he had suffered ached and not one of the bastards had pulled back a lick. He was lucky though—nothing was broken. Maybe they realized that Genji would hardly be an improvement as the Shimada heir.

She did curl up next to him though, as he slept for another hour or so. He couldn’t help but grin as his hand glided down her satin covered waist. She could rest here as long as she wanted. If only his entire torso didn’t hurt. If only…. If only….

He woke first. If only the herbs and medicines didn’t taste so terrible, maybe his mouth wouldn’t taste so foul. He had to be slow, but he managed to get up without the butterfly doing more than turning over. Brushing his teeth was quietly accomplished and he realized that, for the first time in what felt like a long time, he was actually hungry.

Despite the late hour, he staggered to the house phone and managed to order a meal. That woke her up and she sat up, her hair mussed and her face sleepy. “Is there something wrong, Master? Can I help?”

“Go back to sleep, Takara,” he muttered. “I am just hungry.”

“Oh,” she muttered. “I can…maybe massage you?”

“No,” he smiled. “Just get some sleep. If you are hungry, then I will wake you up when it gets here.” He glanced at a small electric clock. “It is still very early in the morning.”

She nodded slowly and laid back down. He picked up his remote, determined to find something worth watching. The earliest news reports were on, droning about the weather and stocks. There had been a shooting. There was a new model of car that was coming out.

The food could have been sawdust for all he cared, but when it arrived, it looked amazing. There was a sweet pudding with chia seeds and fruit compote, some cut up melons, and a sweet-tart orange juice along with a pot of hot tea.

“Takara,” he whispered. She didn’t stir and he limped into the bedroom with the tray. “Takara.”

She stretched and sat up. “M-m-master?”

“Are you hungry?”

She slid over in the bed. “I’m not hungry, but I’ll sit up with you.”

He wobbled to the bed. “It is not much. Breakfast will be along in a few hours.” With a relieved sigh, he sat down. He popped a melon ball in her mouth and she ate it almost without being awake. He took a bite of the chia pudding. He didn’t favor it, but Genji swore that it was healthy to eat. The berry compote looked darkly red and he smirked, comparing it to her lips.

She cracked open an eye and smiled. “What? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Just looking at you,” he admitted. He took another bite. “Are you sure that you aren’t hungry? You have not eaten much….in….” He cocked his head. “Ever.”

She giggled and twisted on the bed. “I am fed well.” She shrugged, looking up at him at first with a smile and then, with his serious look, she shrugged. “I…just don’t…have an appetite.”

He snorted, taking another bite. “I suppose that this is an effect of….?” He flushed. There was no gentle or genteel way to allude to what might have happened to her. “Asahi?”

She suddenly was solemn, watching him carefully. With another half shrug, she nodded. “I suppose so.” She let her hand almost touch him, her gaze flickering down to his leg. “It’s a little hard to remember because it seemed like all of it happened at the same time.”

She let out a sleepy chuckle. “I am…at peace, with it…I-I guess.” She glanced up at him with a smile. “I am happy with you and the little you demand of me.” He snorted. “As long as you find me beautiful, then I am content.”

He smirked in male satisfaction, picking at the pudding. He finished that at least, his sweet tooth overwhelmed. Setting it aside, he curled around her and managed to drop off to sleep. But it was too short a time before he heard pounding on his door.

Grinding his teeth, he pushed himself up. One hand dropped to Takara’s waist, and he murmured for her to stay in bed. She nodded and only shot a dark look towards the door, causing him to let out a small laugh. “I will get rid of them.”

He closed the bedroom door with a sigh. Limping over to the door, he was about to start shouting when he saw one of his father’s most trusted servants bowing low and sweat or tears running down his puffing cheeks. “Master Hanzo…. Please come quickly! It’s…your father.”

Adrenaline poured into him and he wasted no time getting dressed before following the older man down the hallways. They finally turned into a large bedroom. His father was laying in his own opulent bed, his body shaking and frail and somehow a hundred years older than he had ever remembered seeing him. There were matching dark cherry nightstands with drawers on each side of the bed, two large bookshelves, a desk with a silk upholstered chair under it. The second closet was not quite closed. There was a mahogany cane carved to look like a twining dragon beside the bed.

“My…s-s-son,” he whispered. “It is good to see you.”

Hanzo bowed slightly, gritting his teeth as his muscles groaned in agony. “Father.”

“You are…looking well.” His father motioned and the servant disappeared. “I…am glad because the punishments are not meant to be easy.” Hanzo nodded slowly as the servant reappeared with a chair. Sitting down, he looked vaguely at the ancient room. “But where is your brother?”

Hanzo sighed heavily. With a wave, he sent the servant out to fetch him. “Most likely he is sleeping.”

“Ahh…with the whore,” his father grunted and reached for his cane to lay it on the bed beside him. “At least he is interested in a woman enough to try to give me grandchildren.” He shot a dark glare at his eldest son. “You are—eventually—planning to have a woman of your own, aren’t you? Not just an over-priced nursemaid like that whore?” He wrinkled his nose and weakly shook the cane. “You aren’t….interested in men are you?”

“No,” Hanzo shot out. He knew that there were those who liked that, but he definitely didn’t swing that way.

His father nodded with satisfaction. “I suppose that is an improvement, although I’d be happier if you were married. My friend Yuki has a daughter—.”

“No, Father,” Hanzo grunted.

“Ehh, she is a bit homely, but it would be a good marriage,” his father sighed, his eyes closing.

“What did you want to see me for, Father?” Hanzo snapped, folding his arms and fighting sleep himself.

“Ehh…when Genji gets here,” his father sighed as he laid back in his pillows.

Ten minutes later, Genji was led in to the room. Looking weary himself, he was also given a chair. His father didn’t bother even speaking to Genji, just a whisper to tell the servant to leave them for a few minutes.

After a few more moments, the eldest Shimada seemed to wake up a bit and whisper, “My sons. I…I needed to see you before—.”

“Before what, Father?” Genji asked anxiously.

“Before that quack of a doctor decides I’m dead.” He cackled a bit hoarsely, his breath thin and fading. “I wanted to at least pretend that both my sons are going to carry on the Shimada traditions.” He sighed in a deep breath. “Since you both seem bent on destruction, I thought I would try…one…more time.”

Genji shot a worried look at Hanzo, then seemed more anxious when the servant came back in and pulled a rolling cart holding a bunch of monitors out of the second closet. The servant untangled the wires and began plugging them in and attaching them. “Master, you must rest. The doctor will be here soon.”

“Yes. Yes.” The father seemed to be grouchy suddenly at all the wires snaking suddenly everywhere. “The quack will be here soon.”

He looked balefully at his sons. “I suppose that you’re both glad to see all this?” He sighed as the beeps began ringing in the room. “You’re both glad to see me sick and going to die? There’s a reason I didn’t tell you, you know.”

Hanzo shook his head slightly, trying not to gape at the monitors’ irregular beeping. Genji didn’t even manage that, just watching silently.

“You both are my only family.” Sojiro’s eyes seemed to glare angrily. “I don’t see how, but you are both all that is left.” He chuffed out a laugh. “The only thing your mother did right was to have two of you. I wish I could be proud of—o-o-.” He began jerking in a hacking, barking cough. The monitors jerked all over the place and Hanzo rose a little to see what was happening.

His elder slapped his hand away. Hanzo jerked, more out of habit than anything. At one point, that man on the bed would have sent him bowling head over heels with one his his strikes. But now it was a child’s pat—a baby’s slap. The older man glowered at him, “I don’t need you poking and prodding at me, Hanzo.”

Genji rolled his eyes and stretched out a bit. “If all you’re going to do it scold us, then I’m going back to bed….”

“You will sit there and listen to me,” the elder fumed in his thready, whisper soft voice. “Just as I and my brothers sat when my father needed us.” He rolled his eyes at Genji. “You need to learn more respect for your elders—including your brother. You should be prepared to follow him into any thing he says.” He swung ineffectually again. “At the very least, you should be prepared to get married to whoever he says so that there will be another generation of Shimada.”

Hanzo chuffed out a snort. His father glared at him. “You should be more respectful, whelp. You don’t deserve to hold the Shimada dragons. If I could get out of this bed, I’d take them back!”

Suddenly the old man went utterly pale, and one wraith thin hand gripped his chest and the other knotted in the blankets. Alarms on all of the monitors went off, creating a cacophony of beeps and buzzes. Apparently, the servant was listening, because he came in and dug a tiny pill bottle out of a drawer. There was a scuffle with the top and pills scattered across the blankets and Genji leapt up to try to find one.

Hanzo sighed, for once glad he could barely move. One pill flicked towards him and he picked it up. The servant sighed with a forced smile on his face and put it under his Master’s tongue. Agonizing seconds later, the older man was able to relax against the pillows.

“I suppose that you’re good for that at least,” the Shimada master finally sighed, looking at Hanzo. “It’s a piddling enough thing to do right.”

The servant flushed slightly. “Please rest, Master. The doctor will be along in a half hour.”

“Call him again! Tell him to hurry!” The servant bowed out with a patient expression. “I swear—I’ll die before that doctor gets here.”

Genji couldn’t resist a joking tone. “You won’t die. You’ll live forever.”

“You should be respectful,” the elder reiterated. He paused for a moment and then glared at his sons. “So. Where are they?”

Genji looked at Hanzo in confusion. Hanzo just shrugged and then asked, “Where are who?”

“Those whores, son,” he sighed. “Where are those whores you purchased?” He picked at the blankets irritably. “Don’t you dare tell me you are ashamed of your father and are going to hide the women away! Just because I’m old and sick!” He glared at them again. “You’re going to both be old and sick one day too—if you live that long.” He waved at them. “But those are the closest I’m going to get to grandchildren. I expect you to bring them so that they can give their respects!”

Genji and Hanzo both sighed heavily as the elder flopped backwards against the pillows again, exhausted. They both murmured excuses and stepped outside. The servant was hovering at the door, looking at them anxiously. A young man with a blinding white coat came down the hall, carrying a leather bag. The servant introduced the doctor and led him inside.

Immediately there was a barrage of abuse spilling out into the hall as the servant closed the doors. Genji looked up at him, a weary, wary twinkle in his eyes. “He’s going to live forever on vitriol alone.”

Hanzo groaned. “Now is not the time for jokes, Genji.”

Genji nodded, his head tilted slightly as a nonstop angry tirade seemed to permeate the halls. “I’m not bringing Mai here.”

Hanzo nodded almost unwillingly. “I would never tell you to do that.” He puffed out a breath. “Did you know anything about this?”

Genji’s eyes glistened slightly as he shook his head. “I had no idea.” He puffed out a small laugh. “Some ninja I am, huh?”

Hanzo let out a soft chuckle at that. “He would die a thousand deaths and kill us all to prevent a single person who did not need to know from finding out.”

Genji nodded. Then, with a small tilt of his head, he asked, “So…Han…. Would it help? For me to—?” He made a comical gesture of shuddering and appearing to almost die. “Get married?” He seemed to gag. “I mean…. I’d hate to get tied down like that, but I hadn’t….thought….”

Hanzo shook his head. “Let me see what the doctor says. This may be nothing.”

The doctor, when he finally came out, was flushed red and seemed to be about ready to throttle his patient. Hanzo had been pacing the hallway for what felt like forever and almost pounced on the sweaty, weary man.

“You are the oldest son?” he asked and then answered himself. “Of course. So if we could sit down somewhere?”

Hanzo led them to a small room, well away from his father’s apartments. “How is he, Doctor?”

The doctor sat down with relief. “Well, if it were anyone else, I would advise the family be gathered and for final arrangements to be started.” He seemed to be about to make some other remark, but stopped instantly at Hanzo’s grim face. “He is not a well man.” Hanzo nodded. “There are numerous heart issues and they are complicated by various other ailments and his recent bout with pneumonia.”

Hanzo kept a straight face as the doctor droned on, describing the various ailments—the recent pneumonia and heart problems, the low level allergies that had to be treated with asthma steroid treatments, the back problems. It was mind boggling—the doctor had been treating him at home—right under their noses—and they hadn’t even suspected how bad it was. Genji would be appalled at how much they had missed. Hanzo couldn’t bring himself to care that much.

The doctor wrapped up with a detailed litany of medications—nebulizer treatments, pills and potions, liquids and resting. Hanzo barely was able to process some of it, and felt peculiarly grateful that the doctor was handing him written copies of everything. It was somewhat terrifying to see all the diagnoses and the schedule of medicines and realize how sick the old man was.

The doctor nodded and wrapped up, his cheeks flushed and obviously grateful that the visit was almost over. He was still talking, passing his business card to Hanzo. “…and I would suggest that you or your wife spend the time that remains with him.”

“Wife?” Hanzo choked.

“Well…I’m sorry. I just…assumed,” the doctor murmured. “If I can answer any other questions, please—call my office.”

Hanzo resisted the sudden urge to laugh at the doctor’s thinly veiled insistence that he be called at the office. “T-Thank you.”

The doctor bowed respectfully and a servant escorted him out. Without a better plan, he went back to his apartments to study the paperwork. Takara peered out at him from the bedroom. The apartment had been cleaned, the bed made, all the thousand little things to make his suites clean and comfortable—and he was hoping to find some measure of peace.

“Master?”

“Takara,” he sighed heavily. “Not right now.”

She only nodded and perched on the couch. He read and re-read the instructions and recommendations. Finally, when a servant brought him tea and a lunch, he stood up to stretch.

“Master, may I ask what happened?” She peered over him curiously. “Is there anything that I could do to help?”

“Takara,” he smiled only a hair stiffly. “I would not ask this of you.”

She cocked her head. “But…? Am I not supposed to serve you?”

He grinned. “Yes, but—.”

“And would I be able to help?” She glanced nervously at the doctor’s notes. “I could sit—.”

“Takara,” Hanzo muttered. He had to admit that he was almost convinced himself. She looked up at him and then shrank back a little. “Thank you, but now is not the time.”

She nodded and went back to pottering around. There wasn’t a lot for her to do in the apartment, he finally noted. Perhaps having Mai come around wouldn’t be a bad thing…. And wouldn’t Genji just howl in triumph if he followed the younger man’s suggestion? Genji got an unnatural high out of besting his brother.

The day passed slowly. He could barely concentrate on his business because of the numerous calls and questions for the doctors. He couldn’t concentrate on the doctors because of the pressures and problems with the business. Even Genji couldn’t help but interrupt—asking for dinner (again) and for an update on how father was doing.

Then the final straw fell that afternoon. The long-suffering and faithful servant knocked at his office door. With a graceful bow, he said, “Master Hanzo, there is one more thing that I would ask of you….”

“Yes?” He raised a brow curiously. “What is it?”

“I need to leave,” the man muttered. “It’s not for me—it is my own father.” He nodded a little solemnly. “Before, I had been able to go home to tend him. My wife is with him during the days, but I am there in the evenings. Our sons are at school, you see—.”

“Yes,” Hanzo said.

“—and it’s just—. What did you say?” the manservant replied. Surprise was etched on his face. “I…I never…. I don’t know what to say. I haven’t….”

Hanzo smiled grimly. “Take a few days off. Tend to your father.” The other man smiled, bowing. “You are fond of him?” The smaller man nodded, grimly grinning. “Then take the time that you need. Come back when you are able.”

Bowing deeply, he replied, “With all due respect, who will sit with the Master then? The doctor said that he must be watched.” He knit his brows. “I suppose I could ask one of the cousins….?”

Hanzo bowed grimly in return. “I will find someone to sit with him. Do not worry.”

“Of course, Sir. Master. I had no doubt.” He paused. “But the Master is powerfully worried and is….touchy.”

“I will find someone,” Hanzo replied. “And you will return when you are able.”

It was peculiarly satisfying to see the man out of the office. But it also meant that he needed to find someone with the patience of a saint and the ability to take an immense amount of abuse. One of the cousins could—maybe—be called in with such short notice, but he’d really prefer not to call them sheerly because of the endless bickering about favoritism and power struggles it would cause.

At lunch, he walked back to his apartments, his head as full of figures as his hands were of papers and notes. Takara had his lunch laid out on his desk and was, by the sound of it, was taking a bath. Sitting down and nibbling on a rice cake, he looked over the reports again and began checking his emails.

He heard a door open and could smell the vanilla of her soap and the soft damp air. She padded around, pulling on the robe. Her voice was soft and sweet. “Hello. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He grunted and could only trust himself to look up in a glance. With a smile, he replied, “I have only been here for a moment.” If he looked longer, he knew that he’d never get his work done. “Sit and have a bite.”

She came over gamely enough, but one look at his face and she knew that something was wrong. “Can I help you, Master?” She reached out and rubbed his shoulders firmly. His muscles relaxed under her fingers, even if his mind couldn’t manage to. “Is there anything I can do?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say “no”. He really did want to. But he needed only a day or two and he couldn’t think of anyone else to immediately fill the servant’s shoes. “There is…one thing….” Her face brightened and she smiled at him silently. “I would not ask it of you…. And this is the last thing I would ever think of asking of you, but I need someone to sit with my father.” She was nodding before he finished and he grinned grimly. “He is old…and sick. He needs someone to sit with him during the day.” He laughed a little, feeling a weight lessen on his shoulders. “He was not pleasant, even in the best of times. And is positively abusive now.” She was paying close attention to him, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “He will never say a pleasant word to you. He will insult you, call you names and curse you with foul words and language. There will be no pleasing him.

“There is honestly not much that you will need to even try to do. If you can, keep him calm and make sure that he takes his medicine. If there are problems or alarms, then you are to call the doctor and then me. No one else.”

She looked up at him earnestly. “And this would…help you?” She glanced at him worriedly. “I mean….” She flushed again, looking away. “I do not want….” What she did not want to do, she never said, but she did nod again. “I will do what you ask.”

And so, despite his own reservations and his vows that he’d never let her out of his apartments, he led her down the hallways. She was in a hastily ordered gray kimono and a plain ivory obi, her hair pulled back in a plain ponytail. He slid a small cellphone into her hands. “The doctor’s phone number is programmed in. Just press and hold 1. Then my phone is programmed into 2.” She nodded patiently. “Try to keep him calm. Give him his medicine every four hours. Then a nebulizer every six. The pills for under his tongue are for emergencies. They are all in the table beside the bed.” He offered a grin. “Do not worry—they are all labeled.”

Then they were at the room. Already they could hear a maid wailing as Sojiro Shimada screamed at her. Hanzo smiled at her briefly, watching as her eyes widened a little and then settle into a calm expression. She looked up at him for a moment and he expected her to turn tail and run. He smiled thinly, over the continuing shouts, and sort of nodded at her. “Are you sure?”

She looked at the door with wide eyes and then resolutely back at him. With a small nod, she put her hand on the doorknob. He sighed and smiled at her. “You will be fine. If he is getting to be too much, call me and I will try to arrange someone to help you.”

She was suddenly composed. It was frightening, a little, to see her settle behind a frozen and placid mask after she had been so animated. Pocketing the phone, she waited for him to open the door. “If you have a chess set or a samisen, that would help, I think.”

“I will have whatever you need sent to you.”

And with that, he opened the door. His father was still on the bed, cords and wires snaking around in coils. The maid took one look at them and bolted out of the room. “And I suppose that this is your whore, Hanzo?” He glared at her. “And I suppose that you’re dumping her here—.”

“Father,” Hanzo interrupted shortly. “She is here to sit with you while—.”

“—While you gave that fool a vacation! Right when I needed him most!” His father’s face screwed up angrily. “And now you are dumping her here—!”

She laughed musically. “But Master! You must be mistaken. Your father sounds so well that I cannot believe that he is sick.” She laughed again softly. “I think that he doesn’t hardly need anything—.”

“Stop it, you whore!” His father glared at him again. “I am a very sick man!” He took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. “I need—.”

She looked at him with all of the appearance of eager attention. “Yes?” Then, without waiting for him to reply, she said. “Well, if I’m here, I could at least play a game of chess with him. I mean, since he is so well, and all.”

“I am very sick, Hanzo,” his father gritted out furiously.

“Oh?” Takara asked with plain concern. “If you are so sick, I suppose we do not need the chess game. If you are so sick, then you will need to rest and take nasty medicine and be very quiet.”

“I am not going to be told what to do by your prostitute,” his father puffed. “I am perfectly fine.”

Hanzo kept a straight face by will alone. His father was plainly flummoxed between protesting that he was well and that he was sick. To spare him further, although he wasn’t sure why he should care, he nodded at Takara. “Will there be anything that you need?”

She poked around the table and found the notebook that had notes of his medicines. “It is going to be time for your medicine soon. Do you want to start a chess game before then?”

“I will not be told what to do—!”

“By a whore. Yes, we heard you quite clearly.” She forced a smile and began fiddling with the bottles. “Should I get you some water?”

“You will address me with respect! Call me ‘Master’ when you address me.”

“Yes, Master.”

Hanzo held his breath for a moment. “I will…send a board and pieces. A samisen.”

She nodded and went around the room, carefully preparing the medicines. Then she poured a cup of water. “Would you like water or perhaps some tea?”

“I will not be ordered about like an invalid!”

“Oh? Then you are well enough to play chess with me?”

Hanzo crossed his fingers and left quietly. Grabbing the first servant he saw, he ordered the games and instruments, water and tea to be delivered. Marginally relieved, he went to his office to continue working.

Several hours passed as slowly as they possibly could. Once or twice, he was convinced the clock was moving backwards. He got a text from Takara’s phone several times—every time she gave Sojiro medicine—and he each time he was gradually more convinced that, at least temporarily, things were handled.

Then Genji came in. A fight was brewing downtown and he was needed immediately. Hanzo dealt with the problem and then drove back as fast as he could. The last thing he needed was for Takara to crack under the abuse.

The hallway was echoing with shouting when Hanzo came to the apartments. He swallowed heavily and opened up the door. He was sure that Takara would be weeping and cringing in the corner. Instead, she sat beside the bed with the shamisen, plucking out a pleasant melody. She stared blankly at the corner of the bed as her fingers worked the planchette. The man, even with his eyes closed, kept growling abuse at her and she kept playing blankly. The chessboard was set aside on a tray.

As soon as the door clicked behind him, she looked up quickly and smiled. With a quick movement, she put the planchette in her lap and began to take apart the instrument.

The moment she stopped, his father opened his eyes and grunted at him. “So you left me alone with your whore.” He glared at her and poked her sharply with his cane. “I was listening to that and I want you to keep playing.”

She looked up at Hanzo wearily. “Do you need me, Master?”

“Keep playing,” he replied. “At the end of the song—.”

“At the end, nothing,” the elder barked, poking her with his stick. “Keep playing.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed slightly and he crossed his arms. Fortunately, he was saved from replying by a servant coming in with a tray of dinner. Hanzo gathered up the chess board and the servant nodded his thanks and left the tray before leaving in embarrassing haste.

“Father,” Hanzo greeted with a shallow bow.

“Ehh, so what do you want?!” His father waved dismissively. “If I were ten years younger, I’d take her from you. If I were twenty years younger, you never would have—.”

Takara cut in. “If you were twenty years younger, I would be an infant and you’d—!”

“A baby whore!” The older man laughed and ogled her unpleasantly. “As well as you turned out, then I’d have bought you and f—!” He coughed suddenly. Takara dutifully came over and poured more tea and offered it to him. He pushed it away in irritation. “Meh…when are you going to bring me some sake?”

Hanzo flushed and covered his face with his hands. “No sake.”

Takara forced a smile. “When the doctor says that you can have some, we will drink together.” She pressed the cup into his hands. “Then, I will bring you a whole bottle, if you like.”

The elder grunted angrily as she returned to the instrument. “Quack. He’s trying to keep me alive so that he makes money.”

Takara took the shamisen apart and put it aside. “I will see you tomorrow, Master.” Standing resolutely, she walked over to Hanzo. “You needed me, Master?”

Hanzo nodded, ignoring the continuing heckling of his elder. “It is time for dinner.”

His father growled as a white dressed nurse bustled in with a bag holding a few books and some knitting. “Who needs you, you…you medical prostitute?” The nurse gasped, her face flushing. “The whore with the silver eyes. I want her to stay.”

Takara gave the other woman the notebook, showing her the last times of medication. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course, ma’am.” She bowed to Hanzo and to Takara and sat down with a harrumph.

Hanzo led Takara out, muttering their good-nights. He closed the door firmly behind them, then turned to her. She looked up at him a little sadly and he nodded. “I am sorry. He has….just gotten worse with age.”

She nodded and followed him down the hallways. He led her to their apartments, where she plopped down on a couch with a dumbfounded expression. Their own dinner arrived a few minutes later and Hanzo sat it down in front of her.

“You must eat, Takara,” he said softly.

She looked up at him blankly. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

“I know,” Hanzo nodded, pouring a cup of tea. Her face screwed up and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Draping an arm around her, he pressed a rice cake to her lips. “Eat. Rest.”

She let him lead her around, feed her, undress her, and tuck her into bed without protest or comment. There was nothing else to be done—just eat and rest and get ready for the next day. She slept next to him, still curled into a little ball.

The next morning, almost before the sun rose, Hanzo’s cellphone went off. He ignored it, blindly declining the call. Then it rang again. And again. Frustrated, Hanzo sat up and answered it.

“Where is that silver-eyed whore?” His father’s voice cracked like a whip. “I want her here now. Breakfast is about to be served.”

“Takara is her name,” Hanzo grumbled impatiently.

“Who cares about her name? I want her here.”

Hanzo puffed. “We have not gotten up yet.”

“Lazy! You are too lazy and I never toughened you up enough. I should have beaten you more.” His father’s voice went breathless for a moment and Hanzo heard the night nurse’s voice in the background. “I demand that you bring her now.”

Hanzo hung up. Takara growled a little and sat up. “What was that?”

“You have a command performance,” Hanzo muttered, rubbing his eyes.

She only nodded and went to the bathroom. Minutes later, she was again the plainly dressed woman in the gray kimono. She was almost mute as Hanzo led her down the hallway. Again, there were periods of shouting and abuse and cursing as they came to the door.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded and opened the door. The nurse took one look at her and tossed her the notebook with a hasty farewell.

Hanzo bowed stiffly in greeting. “Good morning, Father.”

“You lazy whelp. You’re no son of mine, sleeping in like this.” He cocked them a glare. “But at least you brought the whore back.”

“Are you actually glad to see me?” she asked innocently.

“Go away you useless rooster,” his father grunted at Hanzo instead of dignifying her with an answer. “You should be working now anyway.”

“Father, it is barely 6:30.”

“Nonsense! When I ran the Shimada, I was up at 5:30 most days and 6:00 on holidays.” He looked around. “Tell that other useless brat to come by—if he’s not too busy being lazy.”

Hanzo left them, hoping breakfast was soon for Takara’s sake. His father could not abuse her too badly with his mouth full, could he? Work went a little faster and his phone chimed with regular updates. Lunch came and went. The afternoon came and went. The evening settled over the estate and the first crickets and fireflies were coming out before Hanzo went down the hallway.

For once, it was quiet, except for the sound of a lonely shamisen. Takara looked up when he came in, her eyes hollow and almost dull. She kept playing on and on, her head sleepily nodding. Hanzo looked at his father—at last asleep—and nodded. Ever so quietly, she set the instrument down and crept out.

“The nurse?” He whispered. “Where is she?”

“She came in and he threw her out.” She shrugged a little. “He told her she would be arrested for trespassing if he saw her again.”

Hanzo gritted his teeth. “What then?”

“I told her to fetch dinner. I haven’t seen her since.”

Hanzo nodded and they went to the kitchen together. There was the nurse, sitting with a small cup of tea and almost shaking. “Go back. He will not throw you out.”

“I’ll stay tonight—but only because she needs the rest. He can just up and croak, the old c—!”

“No,” Hanzo gritted out. With an angry snap, he watched as she darted back down the hallway. Predictably, angry shouts and abuse began to ring down the hallway. A servant hastily followed the nurse with a loaded tray of dinner.

Takara watched it all hollowly, her eyes bruised and dewy as though she was simply too tired to cry. He led her to the apartment and was satisfied when her eyes lit up when she saw their own dinner tray.

“Are you hungry, butterfly?” he teased. She nodded eagerly, eyes shining. “Then get out of the kimono and we will eat.”

There was salmon teriyaki and pickled vegetables and there were several gyoza to share. Surprisingly, she ate eagerly, enjoying every moment and every bite. She had little to actually say, and Hanzo supposed that she had spent the entire day talking. But something bothered him about her eager appetite. She had eaten little, like a bird, every time he had eaten with her. Now she was about to nip his fingers as he reached for a gyoza.

“What is wrong butterfly? Have you been craving gyoza?”

She looked up at him, red flooding her face. “I’m sorry, Master.” She looked away. “I….”

“I get that you are hungry. But…why now—?” He stopped himself. “He did not let you eat, did he?” She looked away and, after a tense moment, nodded. “I will tell him—!”

“Don’t,” she whispered softly. “He’s so mad. So very angry.” Hanzo had to laugh and nod. “I think it’s why he’s pleased with me—I don’t take breaks.”

He sighed. “So did anything else happen?”

She didn’t look up. “He’s…expecting company tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know who it is. But he’s very anxious about it. And when he tells me that his guest is coming, he looks at me strangely and laughs.”

That didn’t sit well with Hanzo. Even after she went to bed, he sat on the couch as the TV muttered stock news. Something seemed bizarre, too convenient, about the visitor. His father had never let something like out without there being more to the story. Even when he managed to come to bed, he couldn’t sleep.

At 5:45, his phone went off. Blearily, he answered the call with a grunt. Abuse poured out of the phone and without even looking at him, Takara stood up and went to wash her face and get ready. The gray kimono was still a little musty, but she put it on gamely, along with a puff of perfume.

Hanzo pulled on enough clothes to be decent. He poured her a cup of tea—a cold leftover from dinner the night before—and she drank it in a few gulps. He nodded blankly at her subdued appearance. “I will get you another kimono. Hopefully, his regular servant will be back either tonight or tomorrow.” He tried to cock a smile. What kind of nonsense would Genji say to make her smile? “What about pink this time? As a change of pace?”

She smiled wearily at him. “Whatever you wish.”

“I am beginning to hate that phrase.” She did laugh at that, a little. “I will come for you at lunch—?”

“Let this go,” she protested. “You are an important man, and very busy.” She glanced over her shoulder nervously. “I am almost afraid to leave him. I’m worried about this visitor.”

He nodded and began to lead her down the hallways. “Perhaps it is only his doctor?”

“He is supposed to come by too, but your father is not excited about him. He is only worried about getting more medicine.” Hanzo nodded warily. “I’ll try to call you.”

With that, they were there, listening as the old man berated the hapless night nurse. Hanzo opened the door for her and she came in with that steely, fake smile. She greeted him, seeming to ignore the sudden shouting and abuse. “Father,” he greeted his elder with a bow. “I understand that we will have visitors today? Will you need me?”

His father laughed, a high, grating sound that made his nerves cringe like nails on a chalkboard. “I am having a very important visitor.” He shot an angry look at Hanzo. “And you can be here or not.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll just take a page from the book that you’re writing.” More of that grating laughter echoed. “Now why don’t you just run along, son? It’s my turn with the little whore. You had her all night.”

Hanzo flinched and glared at him. But Takara was already setting up the chess board. With a determined air, she began the game. He was laughing still as Hanzo left.

Just after lunch, Hanzo got a simple text of “!!!!!” and he left immediately. There was unexpected laughter in the hallway—his father’s grating laughter and then a smooth and musical tenor. Unlike other times, he could not hear Takara’s playing or her voice. There was nothing.

He burst into the room and there was his father on the bed, surrounded by coils of wires and tubes. The old man was cackling with his visitor. And the smooth voice in reply came from a gaily bedecked man in multiple layers of blue and green kimono.

“Asahi,” he greeted shortly.

“Honored Sir,” Asahi greeted, sitting in the one chair. Takara was kneeling on the floor with her back against the wall, her head bowed. “I had not anticipated being called to Hanamura to create yet another butterfly so soon!” His fan fluttered. “Is this little one all that you dreamed?”

Sojiro interrupted. “Ehh…. He can get another one.” He glared at her and she went a sickly pale. “One that actually does please him.” He reached for his dragon stick and poked her. “You say it again, whore. He doesn’t sleep with you, does he? You don’t do it for him—you don’t appeal to him, do you, whore?” She swallowed heavily and nodded, not looking at anyone. “Asahi, she is not a disaster now, but I want a few changes.” His father lifted up a slick leather portfolio. “There are a few things I want to talk about.”

“No,” Hanzo growled. “Takara, come here.”

His father’s voice turned shrill and wheedling. “You can have any bitch that you want. Asahi can make you another one just like this one.” He coughed for a bit, then continued. “I’ll take this one—.”

“No,” Hanzo repeated, well aware that he might be rebuked again for defying Master Sojiro Shimada. “Come here.” Takara looked at the men nervously and stood. With a polite bow, she attempted to breeze past. His father watched her evilly, causing his son’s hackles to rise. Asahi watched her briefly, his eyes narrowed, but didn’t do more than that. “We will send in the night nurse.”

“You order yourself a new whore and let me keep this one!” his father growled. With a grunt, he tossed the book at Hanzo’s back. “She’s already trained—.”

Asahi nodded slowly. “I think that you will find that all of our butterflies are so well trained. Perhaps even better trained and better behaved.” He smiled cunningly. “I believe that there are enough caterpillars wanting wings to…satisfy you both.”

“Takara,” Hanzo growled. “Go to the apartment.” She nodded shortly and slid down the hallway. “If there is nothing else you need, Father—.” His father’s shrieks and growls echoed in the hallway as he closed the door.

Walking back down the hallways, ignoring the fading shrieks, he caught up easily to Takara’s shuffling. One of the maids that had also sat with his father looked at her with a small sneer on her face as the butterfly passed her and whispered cuttingly, “Couldn’t you at least please one of them?” 

Takara hugged herself fiercely, tears rolling down her cheeks, as the maid passed and turned down another hallway. She was whispering to herself, muttering furiously. “I-I am n-n-not a bitch. I’m n-n-not a gold-digging whore. Mean, cranky…e-e-evil old—!”

“Takara,” Hanzo interrupted softly. She started and looked up at him with a guilty expression. “There is no reason to linger here. Come and eat lunch.” She shuddered and nodded, falling into step behind him. “And, yes, he is an evil man.”

She ate quickly and Hanzo summoned another nurse—a male one, this time—from the nursing service his father used. The new kimono was in a box on the bed and she took it out and hung it carefully. Hanzo smirked in pleasure as she stroked the pink silk. “Do you like it?”

She nodded happily, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “Do I have to go back? If so, I should….”

“No,” he growled. “Hang up the gray kimono and take a nap.” He gestured at the phone. “The new nurse will be here in a few minutes.”

The new nurse was brisk and efficient and well over 5’9”—in both height and width. Unfazed by the abuse and shouting, he took the old man’s vital measurements and looked at the medical records. In a low voice, he agreed to the employment and then sat down in the room like a bouncer.

Hanzo was satisfied that the new nurse would work out for all of about 3 hours. Then he got another hurried text—“Come immediately”. Texting Genji, they ran to the apartments. The new nurse was there, stuffing their father with the emergency medicines and on the phone with the ambulance. But even Hanzo and Genji knew that it was too late.

They stood by the bed, dutifully respectful and bowing to the old man, when the ambulance arrived. It was too little, too late, but it seemed like the correct thing to do to at least bow as he was wheeled out of the now silent room. The servants were rushing into the hall, bowing and whispering, as the stretcher was wheeled out, and then the room was suddenly quiet.

Genji shuddered a little. “It’s too quiet in here.”

Hanzo nodded. The room was peculiarly silent—but it still seemed to vibrate with anger and frustration. Perhaps if he had been a more dutiful son, a better man, then….

Genji took one look at his brother and wisely vanished. Hanzo had no words—there were simply no words. Going to the gymnasium area, he peeled off his coat and shirt and set them aside in a neatly folded stack. Taking up the elaborate bow, he knocked an arrow and let it fly. The target smashed in an echoing sound. The next arrow zipped straight into the wall and the third shattered the second.

Hanzo stared at the third arrow as it thrummed in the wall. The new arrow had split the old, and the branches of the old fell away to the floor with a hiss. The fourth arrow split the third, wobbling.

Then it was silent.

He didn’t remember setting down the bow or dropping the quiver and watching the remaining arrows spill out. He didn’t remember sitting down so heavily, staring at the arrows in the wall. He did, distantly, hear Takara’s voice, felt the soft flutter of the floor as she walked to him. Her hands stroked his shoulders weakly.

The new arrow split the old one, which fell away with a hiss to the floor.

He stared at the arrows, the small crack in the wall from the force of the bolts. Takara knelt beside him, watching silently and, every so often, nuzzling him.

The funeral was already arranged, and had been for months. People—faceless people—came in and went, enjoying his drinks and food and offering murmured words. Mostly, he saw the tops of bowed heads, young and old.

He was the next leader of the Shimada. He had pushed his father out of the way and split his arrow, which fell with a hiss to the floor.

After the burial, he returned to his apartments. Takara was watching some television, which blared some advertisement for something he didn’t remember, and when she saw him, she turned it off and went to embrace him.

He closed the door behind him slowly.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” she whispered against his chest. “I-I-I shouldn’t have left him.”

“It is not your fault,” he whispered hoarsely.

She whimpered, clutching him. “I-I-I am s-sorry.” She backed up to bow deeply, eventually simply kneeling. “I…. I don’t know what to say.”

“I know.”

“I can’t even cry for him.” She sniffed. “M-m-mostly, I… I want to weep for you.”

He looked at her wearily. “For me?”

“For… for you.” She nodded. “A-a-and your brother. For the children that you never were.”

Hanzo turned this thought over in his mind. With a sigh, he nodded. “Then weep for those children, if you can. And then a little for me, too.”

She nodded, sniffling and rubbing her eyes furiously. “I wish you had the father that you deserved.”

With that, Hanzo felt something snap inside him like a pulled tight bowstring. He knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her like she was a teddy bear. “I…I am too weak.” She shook her head and patted his chest softly. “I…I wanted my father to love me.”

His few tears slid down his cheeks. Mostly, he held her and listened to her cry. She was weary and laid in his arms until her own tears were spent. It helped a little, and, for a moment, Hanzo felt a little relief as he mourned the family he never had.

The very next day, he was forced to fill his father’s shoes. There were so many details, so many problems and for a bit it seemed like the Shimada clan had fractured into a thousand pieces like a vase thrown to the ground. Some were loyal to him and some were loyal to Genji. Some simply hated that the old man had dared to die at all and force change of any kind on them.

It was fortunate that Genji did, at last, elect to show up at the meetings and to do jobs. He was grim, although his eyes still seemed to twinkle with mischief, and he did show up in clean clothes, sober (despite rumors and gossip raging through the estate that he had done little but drink and take his “girlfriend” on an extravagant trip somewhere), and actively supporting his older brother’s decisions. The clan saw that they were, at least on the surface, united, and at last united behind them.

The days were long and frustrating. He often left Takara asleep on the bed and returned long after she had returned to it. There was small consolation that Genji would drop off Mai and the women would spend the days together—watching television, reading from the small stash of books that Genji bought the green butterfly, practicing the tea ceremony, and working out in the gym. In a surprising twist of responsibility, Genji made sure that they had meals brought to them before Hanzo even thought about it.

So, Takara and Mai passed the days as he and Genji struggled to reunite the Shimada clan.

It took better than a month for him to be able to get things calmed down enough that he was able to come back to the apartments at lunch. He found Mai and Takara kneeling at his coffee table and staring at a shopping site on Genji’s laptop.

Mai giggled. “Oh, that would look good on you, Takara. The green would make your eyes sparkle.” Takara looked at it quietly. “You should really get your master to get it for you. And I think these are the shoes….”

Hanzo was bemused at Mai’s enthusiasm and Takara’s silence. They were sounding more like he and Genji every time he saw them together. Finally, he spoke softly. “Genji is waiting for you, Mai.”

The women jumped at his voice. Mai slammed the laptop shut and stood up. Flushing, she stammered, “I-I-I’ll be going.”

“He is in his apartments, Mai,” Hanzo chuckled.

Quite quickly Mai slid out and closed the door behind her. Hanzo watched Takara with a trace of weary humor in his eyes. “So what were you two looking at?”

“Nothing, Master,” she whispered shyly.

He laughed and shucked off the confining suit. The lady bustled around, picking up the clothes and putting them away efficiently. It felt good to be in something as casual as his sweatpants again and Hanzo stretched out on the couch. She finally came to sit beside him.

“I’ve—,” she flushed and then started again. “I’m sorry…about….” She waved slightly and then was still.

Hanzo nodded, tucking her in closer under his arm. “There is little to be said. You saw what he was.” He smirked, but it was hollow. “So what were you looking at?”

“Mai wanted to go shopping,” Takara explained. “She brought—borrowed—the computer and we were looking at some dresses. So, she wanted to pick something special out since she wanted to see if she could get Genji to pay attention to her.”

Hanzo had to chuckle at that. Genji was likely paying attention to her this moment—the first free moment they had managed to have since his rise from heir to master. He thought for a moment, and looked at her curiously. “Why was Asahi here?”

She did flush at that. Frowning stiffly, she whispered, “He—your father—wanted a few changes. Naturally he called Asahi-san to see what could be done.”

“Even though you are mine?” Hanzo growled, holding her close.

“Asahi told him that he could either make another one just like me or that they could find another that you would like better.” She shrugged a little too casually, like it really shouldn’t matter as much to her as it did. “Your father said that he was in charge and that you wouldn’t fight his claim. They were discussing that perhaps I didn’t need to be replaced at all—that you were obviously not interested in me.”

Hanzo choked a little in embarrassment. “What?!”

She shrugged again. “If I am not what you want, then I am not doing something right….” She swallowed heavily. “I would guess that if I am not desirable, that I will be sold or gifted soon.”

He choked again. “Not what I want? How could you possibly think that? After we—?” He puffed out a nervous breath. “Never think that you do not suit me.”

She looked at him strangely, glancing up into his face. “But you never—!”

He grimaced. “There has not exactly been a good time….” He grunted a bit wearily. “I also like to do my own chasing.” He sighed deeply. “It is why I am not interested in anyone handed to me on a silver platter.” He glanced away with a frown. “It is the reason that I have not married either. Everyone is shoving this woman or that woman at me, trying to get a leg up and a better position of power. Who needs that kind of complications?”

He shrugged idly, missing her suddenly pale face. “Besides, none of this would have happened if Genji had not dragged me to the auction. And then tricked me into making a purchase.”

Takara gaped in surprise. “B-b-but I thought…you…wanted me? At least, a-a-a little…?”

Hanzo scowled. “I was tricked by Genji to even going.”

Suddenly Takara burst into tears. “Why did you do this, then? Why did you buy me if I was never going to ever be what you wanted?! Why?!” With a shove, she stood and went to the bedroom. Collapsing against the bed, she sobbed into her hands.

Hanzo stood carefully and went to stand in the doorway. Unfortunately, what she had said was right—he hadn’t wanted her. Hadn’t wanted anyone else to take care of. He distinctly remembered that he wouldn’t have even been involved in the silly auction until Genji had somehow talked him into going.

So why had he not just gotten rid of her?

What had he been thinking?

Discipline. The universe teaching him discipline.

And, with all the discipline he could muster, he stood quietly and left the apartments.

He staggered down the hallway to the gym. First was three quarters of an hour on the treadmill at the highest incline so that his legs burned and his lungs ached. There was over an hour with the weights and deep, thoughtful stretches. Yoga came next, allowing him flexibility and strength.

At last, he had his bow in his hand and he discarded the sweaty shirt. Twenty five target bots floated silently around the room at various speeds. The bots were equipment with either a pod of paintballs or electrified staffs. In his element, he darted from shadow to shadow, arrows raining down on the bots as he darted around their attacks. At last a smile ghosted on his lips as he saw two of the bots shatter and fall.

His dragons chattered in his head. There was something thrilling in their tones as they whispered of their own desire to hunt. From his temporary cover behind a column, he saw three bots drifting into a lineup. With a thrust of his hand, he released them.

The three bots broke apart as the dragons emerged in glowing blue fury. They clicked and nodded at each other, their tails whipping and knocking bots over and breaking them. With what appeared to be a dragon form of agreement, they shrank to about the size of house cats and began to leap over each other and head towards the door.

Hanzo stared at them in amazement and was still staring when one of the bots drifted close enough that it was triggered to attack. An electric jolt stabbed in Hanzo’s back, burning his skin and suddenly cramping his entire body. With a violent curse, he fell, his bow falling out of his hands and the arrows sliding out of his quiver.

Instantly, the bots deactivated, shutting down where they were and weapons disarming since he was no longer a “threat” according to their programming. Hanzo couldn’t even grunt—could barely breathe and his entire body shook violently. His muscles kept spasming, kicking his weapons and various debris away uncontrollably.

There was slow clapping in the air. With a groan, Hanzo forced his eyes to open and look around. Who would dare?!

Genji was leaning against the door with a teasing expression and clapping. “Truly dizzying technique, Master Shimada. I am in awe.”

“Genji,” Hanzo growled. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just watching two dragons go bounding down the hallway and seeing what is going on.”

“Genji,” Hanzo panted as he drug himself upright. “Why not try to help me out?”

“I would,” Genji said gently. “But I am very interested in seeing how badly you manage on your own.” He cocked his thumb down the hallway. “So what are they so upset about?”

Hanzo couldn’t force his body to work. He would have to figure out who had set up that wretched bot and its electroshock settings and probably kill them. “Where did they go?”

“You know,” Genji continued conversationally. “I can’t recall a time that the Shimada dragons have ever abandoned the head of the clan.”

“Where did they go?”

“Down the hallway and around the bend. Offhand, I’d say that they were headed to your apartments.” Genji cocked an eye at his older brother. “So is there trouble in paradise? Maybe even butterfly trouble?”

Hanzo nodded a little—the very little he could. Thankfully, Genji was willing to come over and get him on his feet. Growling a little bit, he leaned on his brother, trying by force of will to get his feet to move. “What would you know about the electroshock settings on those things?”

“Just that they can be changed,” his younger brother chirped innocently. “And that apparently you are careless.”

“I am going to kill you,” Hanzo promised.

“So the Shimada master has lost his dragons,” Genji said. “And does the Shimada master want to go back to his apartments?” Hanzo groaned. “Or would he like to go visit his brother for a bit?”

Hanzo found himself in Genji’s apartment with Mai serving them tea. She giggled as Genji brought out a first aid kit and they tended the circular burn in his back. With a twirl of her tan dress and some white sandals that made her look especially young, she went to put the kit back away in the bathroom and give the brothers some privacy.

“So, how are you, big brother?”

“Hurting. I seem to have a large burn in my back and my dragons are nowhere to be found.”

“Oh really, Master Shimada?”

“Yes. Someone seems to have changed the electroshock settings on the training bots.”

Genji took a sip of water. “Such a shame, Master Shimada.” Another sip and he watched his brother over the edge of the cup. “And has Master Shimada decided what he is going to do about this?”

“Kill whoever changed the settings,” Hanzo replied politely. “Would you happen to know who that is, would you?”

“Honorable Master Shimada did seem distracted while he was training,” Genji observed. “Whatever is wrong?”

“Takara,” Hanzo blurted before thinking.

“Is the treasured black butterfly not perfect and—?”

“Enough, Genji,” Hanzo muttered. “I do not know what is wrong with the dragons.”

“So, Takara has something to do with the dragons running off? That is serious.” Genji cocked a secretive smile. “Don’t let Mai know—she adores mine.” He shrugged. “And Udon and Ramen are fond of her, too.”

“Those are not the historic and honored names of your dragons, Genji.” Hanzo glowered at his brother. “Those are the names that you gave them when you were a child.”

“At least they listen to me, which Pho and Soba do not seem to be doing for you.” Genji kept smirking. “So would you rather be here or with your butterfly and see if your dragons will listen to you?”

Hanzo growled and set the teacup down. “I would adore the opportunity to go to my own apartments, but it appears that someone tampered with the settings. And it appears that the person who tampered with them needs a lesson in manners.”

So, one more time, they were both bruised and battered as he and Genji lurched towards his apartments. Genji had fared little better than he, and his black eye glared at his brother. “So, what were you trying to teach me again?”

“Just do not mess with the training bots again,” Hanzo panted.

Genji kicked open the door and they saw the two blue dragons twining around Takara. Much to Hanzo’s chagrin, they were purring as she scratched their heads. With a start, all three of them looked at the door.

“Don’t mind us,” Genji smiled.

Takara stood stiffly, her face falling into solemnity. With a nod, she brushed the fawning dragons aside and helped Hanzo to the bathroom and into a hot bath. Master Shimada growled at all of them to get out and leave him in peace. Even the dragons bolted, prancing through to the bathroom door after Takara as Genji closed the door.

Two hours later, after he had repeatedly drained the tub and added increasingly hot water, he felt well enough to stand. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he was glad to be upright again. Between a certain hunger for something substantial to eat and a distinct desire to break his mental silence by recalling his two dragons, he was ready to get moving again.

There was silence in the bedroom. His dragons were curled in a friendly knot on the bed, looking up at him strangely, almost like they were lonely. Without complaint, they flew up in a waving pattern and then seemed to sink into the tattoo. There was a slight, nervous purr as they were again joined with his spirit, and then the familiar and warm feeling of being connected to them.

He pulled back on the sweatpants and went to the sitting area. Genji was relaxed, sitting at his desk and poking at a tray with small plates and a small cup of tea. Takara was in the corner farthest from him, staring at a larger platter on the coffee table with yet more small plates and two cups for tea. A large pot sat to one side, waiting to be poured.

Genji reacted first, pushing the plate of carved vegetables aside and setting down his chopsticks slowly. “So, you are up and around Master Shimada.” He cast an ironic look over his shoulder. “Would you kindly tell your butterfly that I’m a nice guy and that I’m not going to hurt her or anything? Maybe even let her speak to me?”

“Genji,” Hanzo hissed. “Just leave.”

Genji frowned. “Hey, I brought dinner and everything. Don’t I at least get a kiss goodnight?”

Hanzo ignored his brother and sat down on the couch. Picking up a pair of chopsticks from the tray on the coffee table, he began to take small bites. Without even looking to the side, he gestured towards the cup. Takara leaned forward and poured the cup silently.

Hanzo nodded to her and picked up the cup of steaming tea. He glanced at the silent woman. “The dragons did not frighten you?”

She glanced up at both men silently. Hesitantly, she shook her head, “They are nice. Like cats.” She swallowed, staring at the various dishes and then she shrugged lamely. “They came out once when…when you were…ill, Master. They did not like it when you were so feverish.” She glanced up at them, “They purr and are…friendly—.”

Genji chuckled not even paying attention to Hanzo’s fierce glare. “Yes, they do purr nicely.” He cocked a smile. “Mai scratches them under their chins. Have you tried that?”

Takara shot him a surprised and curious glance, her mouth open with some reply on her lips. Hanzo growled wordlessly and she just glanced down at her hands again.

Hanzo took a sip of his tea. “They will not hurt you, Takara,” he muttered. “They are actually friendly to you—.”

“Which is unheard of,” Genji interrupted placidly. “Almost.”

“—And will protect you so long as…,” his voice trailed off. He finished the cup of tea and set it down for a refill. He shook his head and did not finish, gesturing instead towards the dinner.

Takara glanced at them both again and picked up the remaining set of chopsticks. Silently, she poked at a yellow pickle. She shivered as the two men glowered at each other. Genji sighed heavily and she proceeded to ignore everything he said as he chattered about how Mai petted his dragons. Hanzo paid no attention to him either, just nudging bites underneath her chopsticks silently.

Finally, Genji swung around in the chair irritably. “So are you both going to ignore me?” He pouted a little sarcastically. “Well, then I’ll just leave you both to ignoring each other.” He ripped a page from a pad on Hanzo’s desk and scrawled a note on it. Standing and walking to the door, he tossed the note towards Takara. “Hey, doll, if you ever need to talk to me, that’s my number. When my brother gets overbearingly idiotic, you know how to reach me.”

“Go away, Genji.”

Genji left, closing the door behind him. Takara looked at the door, long after he had gone, and long after Hanzo had resumed eating as though he hadn’t been in the room at all. Hanzo ignored her, continuing to eat as she rose to put Genji’s note on the desk.

He continued to ignore her as she pottered around. He went to bed, only half listening to the nervous chattering of the dragons. Then he ignored even them as he rolled over.

After a long, long sleep—a sleep filled with soft phrases and comments from the dragons that flickered in and out of his dreams—he felt, for once, truly rested. In fact, possibly the first time he had been truly rested since his father died.

The next morning he felt like a new man. Which was a good thing as the elders summoned him for a meeting to discuss the business. Things felt different this time. He was now the master—the leader of the clan—and every single one of them knew it. Even Genji appeared in a conservative, charcoal suit. All of the faces that had been there at his rebuke, were suddenly considerably more respectful and quite a few of them were studious about not meeting his eyes or catching his attention more than necessary.

Unfortunately, another loss appeared had not been accounted for. Hanzo looked at the sheets solemnly, staring at the numbers highlighted in red. Several of the elders stammered explanations and offered excuses, but Hanzo only glanced at Genji.

“Find out the reason for these losses, Genji,” he said.

Genji nodded, staring at him evenly. “When I do, I’ll kill him and all that told me his name.”

“Then go,” Hanzo ordered. He looked at the other elders. “If there is no other business…?”

Finally, one of them spoke, nervously. “O-O-Of course not, Master Shimada. Nothing else.”

“Then we will adjourn,” Hanzo said quietly.

Everyone stood and bowed. With the minimum of noise, the elders shuffled out, not speaking to him at all. Only Genji remained, watching him evenly. When they were alone in the room, standing at opposite ends of the table, Hanzo studied him.

Genji smiled, a small and sad effort. “So now what, brother?”

Hanzo glanced at the pile of balance sheets, the neat notes he had made in the margins. He had been where Genji was—the second man’s seat, the one watching from the wings. And now he had risen to the height of the power to sit in his father’s seat, to wield his father’s power and to lead his father’s clan.

He had fired the arrow, become the arrow. He had split his father’s arrow and it had fallen away.

With sad eyes, he looked at Genji. Would his younger brother be the arrow that split his own? Would his arrow fall away with only a hiss?

“Let us go to the dojo,” Hanzo murmured.

They walked silently to the large, empty room. Genji darted into the shadows almost immediately, pulling a sheathed katana from somewhere and rejoining him in the middle of the room. Hanzo pulled out his bow and quiver.

They bowed to each other with solemn ceremony. Their katas had a relaxed yet studious rhythm that allowed them to focus on perfect technique. But Genji noticed that stubborn set to his brother’s jaw that seemed to say he had something boiling to come out.

“Do you want to talk now, Brother?” Genji asked softly as they paused.

Hanzo knocked an arrow, dropping into a light-footed stance. Genji looked like he also had plenty to say. “Get it out, Genji, before it destroys you.”

Genji drew the sword slowly. “Hanzo…do you not remember? Aiko? Yoshi? Yui? Ichika?” His eyes were pained. “Tell me, Master Shimada, do you remember?” Genji swallowed heavily, staring at the other man over the blade. “Do you remember?!”

“I remember!’ Hanzo roared, firing the arrow over Genji’s shoulder. With a smooth motion, he pulled another out and slid it into place. “I remember every. Single. One. I remember all of it.” Another arrow flew over Genji’s other shoulder. “I remember holding you late every night—every night, every time—because if our father had caught you mourning even one of those urchins he would have probably killed you!”

Genji flinched, sliding backwards as Hanzo continued. “I am the one who held you. I am the one who told you we could change. I am the one who lied over and over to our father about where you were and why there were constantly sweets missing and everything you did. I am the one who got beaten for them. I am the one who was responsible!” Hanzo leapt forward. “I was the one responsible. I was the only one who did what was asked. I was the one who did what was necessary so that both of us would live.”

Genji snorted. “And now you’re going to do exactly as our father did? You’re going to find some female, maybe get married, force a child on her—or two or three, just in case you don’t like the first ones—and then beat her and ignore her and…and….!”

“No!”

“And you’re chosen heir is going to look up to you, and is going to realize one day that you’ve killed, that you’ve maimed, and that everything you’ve built up has hurt everyone you’ve ever cared about and a whole bunch of innocent people along the way?”

“No!”

“And Takara? What about her? Is she going to be sent to the western estate? Going to be sent away from here so that your little wife doesn’t have to trip over her? Or are you going to just kill her like you’re going to just kill anything else in your way?”

“No!”

Genji’s sword wavered and dropped. “Or, worse, you’re going to turn her loose like a pet rat. Just drop her off on a street corner and not look back so that she’s left with nothing but the body you gave her to get her next meal?

“And what about me, Brother? You’re going to keep me around, right? At least until the little wife starts popping out brats so that you’ve got your heir and a spare.” Genji laughed, turning slowly. “And the whole cycle begins again. Winner take all and the losers dying like flies.”

“I have given everything I had to keep you alive and safe!” Hanzo shouted. “I have fought for you. I have bled for you.” He fired another arrow wildly and it skittered on the floor at Genji’s feet. “Everything that needed to be done, I have done it.”

Genji looked at him sadly. “Yeah…you’ve done it. Everything and more.” He gestured wildly. “So look around. Enjoy your power and your glory and honor.” With a defeated shrug, he dropped the sword and it clanged on the floor like a cracked bell. “Just don’t think about how it was all bought with blood.”

“Just do your job, Genji. If you do not like how I do things, you are welcome to go elsewhere with Mai.”

“So that you can kill me for desertion? How nice—a convenient excuse.” He cocked an eyebrow. “So is Takara already pregnant?”

“She is not your concern. She never was.”

“What do you tell yourself?” Genji snarled. “When she is kneeling and watching you and wondering why on earth she is so unlucky as to be hooked up with you? Or is it more convenient to fuck her and not worry about it?”

“She is not your concern!”

Genji laughed and the sound was more foreign than the clatter of the dropped blade. “The gossip says that you don’t do anything to her at all. That she’s beside herself because you never wanted her and our father did. He wanted to beat her and abuse her and she would never, ever be able to fight back, but at least he did want her.” That lost, grating laughter rang out again. “And our father even brought Asahi over to talk about the alterations he wanted.”

“Everyone talks too much,” Hanzo muttered sourly.

Genji laughed bitterly. “It’s not like he was quiet when he was screaming about what he was going to do to her since you didn’t want her.” Hanzo looked surprised for a moment before glaring angrily. “Hey—if you don’t care, I do. I care that even the one woman you have ever spent more than ten minutes with now is afraid that you’re going to do something terrible to her.” Genji looked at his brother sadly. “And you’re going to be doing more damage than you can even imagine.”

“I can imagine quite a lot,” Hanzo grunted, for the moment furious at Mai, Takara and Genji.

“You know,” Genji added quietly. “I think she adores you.” Genji shrugged, warily scooting around to get the sword. “That’s the tragedy—she adores you.” He looked away. “And I think she has adored you since the moment she saw you. She once told Mai that she was the luckiest butterfly—that you didn’t beat her, didn’t drug her, and that you listened to her.” 

Hanzo grunted, lowering his weapon slowly but a growl still on his lips. “Tell me again how that translates into her being afraid of me?”

“You’ve done absolutely nothing,” Genji whispered sadly. “That’s the problem. You have done exactly what you wanted, when you’ve wanted. You’ve followed the orders given without question and now you’re giving orders without wondering what it costs.”

Hanzo growled, “You do not appear to have suffered.”

Genji looked up with pained eyes in his pale face. “Yeah…. I’m just as bad.” He sighed and just nodded with a hopeless acceptance. “But at least I am willing to think about changing. Are you?”

“Are you? Are you really willing to change? Or is it more of your bohemian Utopian prattle that lasts as long as I pay the bills?”

“She could help you, you know.”

“At least she is quiet when following orders,” Hanzo complained. “Why not try it? Just for a change.”

“She could help you,” Genji insisted. “She could help you see the good that you could do. Give you hope and help you change.” He snorted irreverently. “At least, it would do you good to relax.” Genji sighed, “At least try it, Han. Go get something to eat, something strong to drink, and get into bed with her. She won’t say no.”

“It is more complicated than that, Genji.”

“She would love to,” Genji went on. He cocked an evil look. “If you are worried about her getting pregnant, then I have—.”

“Do not even finish that sentence.” Hanzo shuddered. “I do not want to know what you have. Besides, Asahi took care of that possibility.”

Suddenly, Genji’s attention was riveted. “Oh? How? Do you know how?”

“What? No—I do not know precisely how. Only that it was not supposed to be permanent.”

“Well, thank goodness for small mercies, I suppose. In that case, why on earth not enjoy her?”

“Like you ‘enjoy’ Mai? You are a far worse sinner than I. She is not even of age, Genji.”

“I haven’t touched her,” Genji protested. “I don’t intend to.” He shrugged a little. “We’re trying to figure out somewhere that she’s safe.” Hanzo stood there with a frown on his face. “It’s…more complicated.” A glance of hope crossed his face. “But you could help. We could do so much…change so much.”

“Is that what this tirade is about?”

“Look, Han,” Genji said. “Let me just show you.”

“Show me what?”

“That things can change.”

“And how do you propose to do that? Start challenging all the elders and all their families? What would that do but get you and Mai killed?”

“Let me show you by taking out Asahi.”

Hanzo stared at Genji in mean-spirited, sarcastic wonder. “What do you have against Asahi? Did he or did he not make your dreams of feminine beauty come true?”

“I told you, Han, I’m not going to do anything to her. I need her to take down Asahi.” He cocked a grin. “If you wanted to make it quicker, then let me talk to Takara—she’s the key to bringing charges because she’s a living body of proof of what Asahi is doing.”

“Let my butterfly get drug into whatever scheme you have in mind so that you can play knight in shining armor for a girl that you admit you are not going to actually do anything with? Have you learned by now that we are not on the heroic side?”

“But we could be!”

“How? How could we possibly suddenly turn this around without getting killed? You know, without more of those supposed innocents dying?”

Genji didn’t have an answer and Hanzo stomped out. His body still ached for action—the release of pent up frustration and energy. He puffed huge breaths in and out, trying to regain his calm. Going to the gardens, he walked around slowly, and found he had no choice but to think about what Genji had said and the questions kept going over and over in his head.

Takara was waiting up for him, sort of. At least, she was awake and dressed in the pink kimono that made her skin glow and she was sitting on the couch in the sitting area. He couldn’t meet her eyes for a moment, but instead just flopped on the couch and began peeling off the sweaty and suddenly tight clothes before sliding on clean ones. She hovered around him, picking up and keeping things neat. Hanzo tried to just ignore her—every time that he even glimpsed her out of the corner of his eye he could hear Genji’s voice.

“Takara,” he said. She paused, looking up at him with a question in her eyes. “Would you be honest with me?”

She stopped and stood in front of him. He glanced into her face and saw the happy glowing mask over her expression fade. “M-m-master?”

“Are you happy here?” Hanzo peered into her eyes.

“Yes, o-of course, Master,” she cocked her head in confusion. “W-w-why wouldn’t I be?”

“Be honest with me, Takara,” Hanzo said with a low growl. “You always seem to stutter when you do not want to answer a question.”

She flushed, which looked strange with her pale face. “I am content to be here.”

“Why?”

“You…you do not ask too much of me. You do not force me to take any drugs. You do not beat me. I do not have to…to—.”

“To what?”

“To sleep with others….” She flushed even darker. “I am not asked to…do too much.” She shrugged a little nervously.

Hanzo grunted. “Anything else?”

“No, Master.”

“And you are happy here?”

“O-o-of course,” she whispered.

“Would you do anything I asked?” He peered up at her curiously. He thought deviously, “I want you to strip and go to my bed.” A part of him wanted her to agree and unleash the tension in his body. Discipline, he reminded himself. He didn’t need her to agree, of course. He was master here.

The only thing was…. He didn’t want her to disagree either. He didn’t want to enforce his command, didn’t want to deal with the necessary punishments. He didn’t want to be the heavy—to force her to do anything.

“Of course—if I could manage it.” At his glare, she hastily explained, “I can’t do some things—like….”

“Like what?”

“L-like…,” she shrugged nervously. “I can’t…fire a gun?”

He laughed a little. “Would you like to learn?”

“I can’t fly?”

“Do not be sarcastic.”

“I can’t…resist you.”

He sucked in a breath. His entire imagination suddenly was on fire. Even the dragons’ were suddenly quiet. All of the world went suddenly quiet.

Discipline, he reminded himself. She is only entertainment.

“Why?!” was the single, unified thought of the dragons.

“What?” was all he could whisper.

“I cannot resist you.”

He stood up, towering over her. The word ‘discipline’ rang in his mind over and over. The dragons kept asking ‘why’, over and over. Unfortunately, the former was getting fainter and fainter. The dragons’ answering ‘why’ got louder and louder.

And he had no ready answer.

She looked up at him, watching him carefully. He was amused that she didn’t back up, didn’t flinch away. A curl of mischief twisted in his stomach, twisting his lips upward with a devilish grin. He looked down and crossed his arms, which had the pleasant effect of making him appear even more muscular.

She was right there, watching him. Her mouth opened a little in a breathless way and her eyes were thin rings of smoky gray. She trembled slightly—a shiver running up and down her spine. Her hands flexed and a strange look crossed her face, like she was standing hungry in a candy store.

He laughed softly. There were grown men who wouldn’t stand looking up to him anything like that. He reminded himself—‘discipline’—and the next thought was an echo—‘she’s only there for entertainment’.

Oh, how he wanted to be entertained.

He could do this, he reassured himself. He could let her be entertainment. He could call her an assistant or entertainer or whatever else, but he was done trying to resist the perfectly natural impulse to make love to this beautiful woman. After all, he was the Shimada master and such a tiny indulgence could not shake his discipline....

“So,” he breathed, dropping his arms and letting his diabolical amusement show on his face. “You can not resist me?” She nodded. “Take off my shirt.”

She nodded slowly and her eyes suddenly glowed. With a smile, she reached to his waist and pulled his shirt up. Just short of tickling, her fingers were gentle. She leaned in close, pressing a kiss to his neck as she rucked up the shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, just in time for her to wrap her arms around his chest and began peppering him with delicate kisses trailing down.

Her tongue teased his navel—a quick swirl—before beginning the most dedicated trek down further. Her fingers fiddled with his pants, undoing them and starting to push them down as her lips kept going down further and further.

She panted a little—her breath feathering over the trail of kisses. He growled and grabbed her hair before she kept going. “You are…overdressed.”

She nodded and stood. Her own smirk crossed her face, and her hands began undoing the kimono. One pale shoulder with a lacy strap emerged as she began sliding it off coyly. Giving her a laugh, he gripped the lapels and ripped it open.

She was wearing the lacy bra and panties he had picked out. It was almost better than when he had pictured her in it when they ordered it online. He purred as his fingers traced the lacy pattern. As his hands came up to her shoulders, she tilted her head and licked his knuckles.

How they managed to make it to the bedroom, he had no idea. He sat on the edge of the bed, settling his face between her breasts as she was straddling his lap. His fingers tangled in the bra. The stretchy material defied his attempts to unhook it and with a growl, he ripped it instead.

She growled in return, a leg coming up to hook around his waist. Her panties were soaked and he smirked as it trailed a wet smear on him. The other leg wrapped around his waist and she was grinding on top of him.

“Do not be impatient,” he whispered in her hair. She didn’t seem to be listening, instead nibbling his ear. “Hmm…I do not think that you are listening to me, butterfly.” He rolled his hip and threw her into the middle of the bed. “You need to be taught…patience.”

She laughed softly, caressing her breasts and watching him closely. He laughed. Taking her hands in his own, he looked at her and whispered against her skin, “What pleases you, Takara?”

Her eyes went wide in surprise and her mouth opened a little in surprise. “I-I-I….”

“You do not know, do you?” He smirked. “You need to speak up, little treasure, to tell me what pleases you.” He ogled her chest and smiled. With a smirk, he licked her breast from the base to the tip of the nipple. “Tell me if you like this.”

She nodded mutely. He kept lapping at her and her hands fluttered in his grasp. She smelled of vanilla and musk as he kept her pinned down. Her legs kept curling around him and she seemed to almost be senseless as he kept tasting her. Between her legs was the most intoxicating scent and as he began teasing her.

“You have a lovely, sensitive little bud here,” he whispered to her. Moving one hand he pushed open her lower lips and let one thumb trail in circles around her clit. “Do you know that this little bud is filled with sensitive nerves that just scream for my attention?”

She panted and shook her head with a whine. He drug his finger over again, smiling as her hips curled. Even her toes were curled into the sheets. “Adorable,” he praised. “What if I kiss it?”

She whimpered. “So…hot,” she whimpered. Weakly, she pushed upward and looked at him with glazed eyes. “But am I not supposed to please you?”

He laughed, kissing down and puffing air between her legs. “You are to obey me, first and foremost.” He lapped all the way from front to back, grinning as she squealed. “And for now, you are to tell me what pleases you.”

Cautiously, he pressed one finger against her wet folds. Hanzo watched her face carefully to see her reaction. “It is not fair if you bite your lip, little treasure.” He thrust a finger hard into her, all the way to the knuckle, and she shook her head mutely. “I want to hear those sounds, Takara.”

She gasped, whining as he curled his finger. “I…I can’t—!”

“Can not what?”

Her fingernails gently attacked his hand between her legs. “I…I…I just can’t! It’s too much!”

Hanzo put one hand on her mont, gently pushing her hips down and she suddenly bit her lip again. “Careful. You are too quiet.” He pushed another finger inside. “You should not be scared to tell me what you want.”

He knelt up on his knees, grinning wickedly as her legs clamped around his hips. Takara’s face glowed with sweat and her hands knotted in the sheets. Instinctively, she tried to pump her hips, and he kept one hand pressing her down.

With a sudden yank, he pulled his hand away and was rewarded by her sudden whine and blind scrabble to grab his hand. “Am I not pleasing you well enough? Hmm…”

“No! No. No. No.” She panted and grabbed for his free wrist. Her legs pumped, her feet sliding without purchase. “I…I am…!”

“You are…what?” he smiled. Once more he stroked her. “You are pleased?”

She nodded wildly. “Please! Please…more.” Ineffectively, she tugged at his free wrist. “More.”

“What is this ‘more’?” He bent to suckle on her nipples. “Be explicit.”

“Must I beg?” She whined. He shook his head. “I want it all. I need it.” She took an uneven breath. “You-your fingers in m-my cunt.”

Hanzo chuckled as she spared him a glance to see his reaction. Without hesitation, he rewarded her with two fingers where she wanted them. Instantly, her head pressed back into the pillow and her legs clamped around his wrist. Letting her hips go, he laughed as instantly her hips began pumping on his fingers. As soon as he curled his fingers, she let out a wail and every muscle clamped down on him.

“Anything else?” His voice was hoarse and it hissed through his teeth. “Focus….”

One eye stared at him and she worried her lip again. She brought one hand up to her own breast and whimpered when he shook his head. “I…. Just a little more….”

“Words, Takara.” He smiled as he kissed her neck again. “Words to tell me what you want.”

With a sob, she shook her head. “This isn’t how it is supposed to happen!”

“What is not supposed to happen?”

She pumped her hips two more times, twisting cautiously. Suddenly his finger hit a sweet, tight spot and she growled, grinding into his rough wrist. Every muscle spasmed and then locked, and a scream caught in her throat. Takara was sure that she was almost…there. Then his thumb grated across her clit and it rocked through her.

The scream echoed in the room and Hanzo laughed at her as her nails dug in to hold his hand as she ground against him. Trembling, she panted and looked up at him, her hips gradually slowing.

Suddenly, she realized what she was doing. Her gaze flickered down to her hands as they held his wrist. Her eyes went wide as she studied the light scratches up and down his wrists. Then she saw his cock red and straining and went a little pale.

He grinned at her as he settled on his elbows and stretched out. Idly playing with a lock of her hair, he asked innocently, “So now that you have been pleasured, will you tell me what is not supposed to happen?”

She gently stroked his shoulders. With a breathless, mournful look, she whispered, “I am supposed to pleasure you.”

“Hmm. I think that you are supposed to do what I say,” he whispered as he nipped her ear. “Now, it is time for us to continue.” She sighed peacefully, feeling him inch forward. “If you are ready….”

She bit her lip again and he licked both of them playfully. “But you need to tell me what you like…. Keep talking, Takara. Keep talking.” She gasped as he entered her the first tiny bit. “Breathe.”

Suddenly she bucked up. Hanzo hissed as suddenly he was well seated in her pussy. Discipline. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes slightly, trying to keep from driving into her. Her rocking, grinding against his hips, would surely…drive him crazy.

He thrust once, hard enough that she paused, sucking in a breath to feel him all the way inside. Softly, she moaned and pulled on his hips to encourage him. “Talk, Takara,” he murmured against her neck.

“There. I like…to be nipped there,” she sighed. “And…I like to…oh, God, move!”

Suddenly, there was nothing held back. She came alive, bucking and whining, begging him for touches and caresses. She was explicit, even crude, as she told him what she liked. Ahh…the lightest of pressure across her neck and her hips would twist in pleasure. Nipping the sensitive skin at her neck made her shiver and then tremble again as sucking on that little bite made a mark. And there was nothing more thrilling than the moan when he pulled her legs over his shoulders.

The steady rhythm became erratic and he felt sweat dripping down his back. Takara panted, every muscle gripping him and her words begging him almost incoherently for him to…. Then her words sank in and her hips slammed into him.

Fire wrapped around every fiber of his body and he groaned to feel her clamp down around him again. She cried out his name, wailing like she was in labor, and he was undone. Even harder, he pumped in and out and came.

Sighing and suddenly exhausted, he withdrew, rolling to stand and go fetch a washcloth. He expected her to be exhausted, and was surprised when her fingers drifted over her belly to scoop up his seed from between her legs and then bring it to her mouth. She sucked her fingers contentedly, drawing the thick liquid up repeatedly to taste it. Frozen to the spot, Hanzo watched her.

When she did open her eyes enough to spot him staring at her, she rolled to one side. “Is something wrong, Master?”

He started a little. “N-n-no. Nothing.” He cocked his head. “Is that good to you?”

She flushed a little and nodded timidly. “I-I-I…like it very much. I like sex—maybe too much” She licked her fingers and whispered softly, “I-if it doesn’t displease you…?”

He smiled knowingly. “I have not seen a woman do it before. Let alone enjoy it. We will have to explore all the things you like to do with your mouth.”

He cleaned them almost blindly and felt particularly satisfied when she curled up against his side. He was about to ask her more questions, but she yawned widely and closed her eyes. Even the dragons seemed to be content and their yawns echoed in his head. So, with a languid grace, he tucked in the sheets and drifted off to sleep.

The next week passed with lightning speed. He was surprisingly eager to conclude each day and return to the apartment. Takara was happy to see him, waiting up late into the night until he returned. No matter when he came in, now matter how foul his mood, she was smiling and welcoming, her arms wide. Twice he took her into the open room to exercise, playing the chasing relay and pouncing on her at the end—where she would gleefully submit to whatever he wanted. Even the dragons seemed content, their strength flowing into Hanzo without reservation.

If only Genji could find whoever had stolen the clan’s money. It was a small thing, and surely the ninja was almost on top of it, though. When that was wrapped up, he intended on taking a few days off with Takara, maybe going somewhere exotic. Genji had taken Mai several trips—none recently, thank goodness—and they were fine, so surely the more reserved Takara would be fine….

The next week, bright on Monday morning, the elders were finishing up a meeting when a cousin smiled and asked, “And is there a wedding soon, Master Shimada?”

Hanzo glanced up, crooking his eyebrow. “A wedding?”

Several of the other elders chuckled nervously, while others seemed a little shocked. “Yes,” added the cousin. “A wedding so that we have heirs. So that the clan may continue.”

Hanzo just looked at the cousin, waiting. His words scarily echoed Genji’s and for a moment, Hanzo was sure that his younger brother was behind this. The cousin’s smile turned stiff as he watched. “And…?”

“Well, my dau—my wife and I would like to invite you to dinner…. To meet my daughter, who has come home from her school in Switzerland.” He took a spotless white handkerchief and wiped his suddenly sweaty brow. “I am…naturally very proud of her….”

Hanzo kept staring, and waiting. Finally, he said softly, “I will see.” He waved dismissively. “If there is nothing else?”

Thankfully, no one else seemed to be willing to press forward. They filed out quietly and he was glad to be done. He picked up his things—his pen, his pad of notes—and glanced at the small bowl of flowers and the bowl of small, individual chocolates. He couldn’t resist smiling and putting a few in his suit pocket for Takara. He could eat with Genji, listening to the latest intelligence that Genji would tell no one else, and then he could surprise Takara with an early visit.

Unfortunately, all of those plans were disrupted with a buzz of his cellphone.

He glanced at the alert on his screen. The email was an anonymous one—a randomly generated string of numbers and letters going to a free email account—that he didn’t recognize. Flipping his thumb on the phone, he opened it irritably.

“Honored Sir, I hope this finds you in good health and fortunes, such that you could assist a partner with a small issue—.” He stopped there. He could practically hear Asahi’s sing-song voice in the annoying see-saw between false praise and ingratiating wheedling. Sighing, he replied shortly.

Asahi’s next email came almost immediately. “Honored Sir, there is still the matter of your base price for your purchase, which I feel we would be able to settle during this meeting.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. There was just about nothing he wouldn’t rather do than meet Asahi again, but at least the man had been silent this long. “Sir, I am available to meet this evening after dinner. Is 8:30 convenient?”

The phone dinged again and he saw Asahi’s flowery acceptance in about three times the words than necessary. Sighing, he went to his lunch with Genji.

Asahi’s dress was no less flamboyant—4 layers of green and gold kimono and a gold hairpiece—than he remembered. The butler was just as staid and formal, leading him into the parlor and disappearing with his overcoat.

“Honored Sir,” Asahi murmured as he bowed low. “The fortunate collector of our black butterfly.”

“Asahi-San,” Hanzo replied, returning a slightly less extreme bow. “What seems to be the problem?”

“As you understand,” Asahi sighed, pulling out a fan. “My services are unique and—if I may say so, wonderfully sought after. However, there has come to my attention a few…unpleasant rumors that certain medical authorities are questioning the facilities here.” Hanzo nodded stiffly. “It has become more difficult to obtain the materials for my butterflies and I find that I need your generous assistance to continue.”

“What do you think you need from me?”

“Your most generous assistance in…convincing the suppliers to continue with our arrangements would be delightful. And if your…associates would be so kind as to perhaps divert the attentions of the medical investigation boards, then my very small problems would be solved.”

Asahi pulled out a folded sheet of cream paper with a butterfly watermark on it. Presenting it to Hanzo he offered a cat-like smile. “And, of course, in return, I would consider the base price you bid for the lovely butterfly to be completely paid in full.”

Hanzo let out a breath, controlling his breathing. Unfolding the paper, he saw—finally—what he had written in his bid for Takara: “anything”.

“Of course, your father’s interest in my little shop was most kind,” Asahi simpered, covering over the moment of silence with chatter. “It was generous indeed that he would consider buying from the catalogue and the small alterations to the butterfly.” 

Hanzo gritted his teeth at that crude reminder. “My father is dead.”

Asahi’s face instantly fell into the perfect mask of sympathy and sorrow. “How sad that such a gentleman has passed from us.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo muttered, wondering what Takara’s assessment of “such of gentleman” would be. Changing the subject, he asked, “Do you know who might be causing the investigations?”

“Most Honored Sir,” Asahi replied. “Alas, I do not know who it is that has such an unreasonable hatred of the dear butterflies. But I am glad to provide you with the papers to begin an investigation…?”

Hanzo looked at the slip of paper in his hand. “And that will satisfy you—?”

“Indeed.” Asahi snapped his fingers and a robed woman appeared with a folder. “Here is the poor collection of papers that I have collected so far.”

“I will investigate this matter and see what is to be done.”

“You are most generous, Honored Sir.” Asahi grinned again. “And, of course, you and your esteemed brother are more than welcome to attend the auctions and to visit my butterflies any time you wish.”

Hanzo grunted and, for once, Asahi had nothing else to add. Formal farewells were exchanged and Hanzo was grateful to get into the car and be driven off. The investigation papers he examined on the way and they were enlightening. Whereas an unprotected brothel would merely be investigated by the local police and likely passed on to an “expert” who was taking bribes, Asahi had medical boards looking at his imports, his shipments, and the credentials of those associated with his little venture. All of the names on the papers were highly-respected, highly-visible doctors and officials, making it less likely that this was a normal shakedown.

It was a perplexing problem and he spent several phone calls asking his men to do their own investigations. Surely one or more of them had a skeleton in their closet. It was a matter of finding the loose thread and pulling it so that the entire thing unraveled. If his men couldn’t find something—or manufacture something—then Hanzo decided that Genji would be called in.

Takara welcomed him home, massaging his shoulders and back and then bathing him. One by one, they fed each other the chocolates, sighing and murmuring in their heady pleasures. And, the dragons rejoiced as they did, letting out happy murmurs in his head. Hanzo was relaxed, content, and about to go to sleep when his hand wandered over Takara’s bare stomach.

Just for a moment, he tried to picture her tiny waist gently swollen with their child. She would be a quiet mother, but he had no problem imagining her with small children—doting on the sons and daughters equally. But that was a bit silly—she was, for all her delights, not to be pregnant and certainly not with his children.

Another week passed and the thugs returned with depressing results. Every single one of the doctors and officials listed on the investigation documents was clean as a whistle. No secret mistresses. No illicit drugs. Somehow—and it boggled the mind as to how—every single person listed was honest, hard working and very keen on determining why a man who declared himself to be a “butterfly enthusiast” needed Omnic technology, nanites, and various other things.

Finally, Hanzo had to admit that Genji needed to be brought into the investigation. They met briefly for a snack with Mai and Takara, settled the girls in with a vampire movie (a peculiar interest of Takara’s), and then went somewhere to speak in private.

“I don’t like it,” Genji muttered as they sat in the back of the limo.

Hanzo raised the privacy screen and then turned off all of the electronics. Not even their driver and bodyguard would be able to see in the back as they talked. “It seems a bit too convenient.” He paged through the notes again. “None of these people would usually get mixed up in a standard investigation.”

“How strange.”

“Indeed, Genji. I sent Yoshi-San and two others out and none of these names have turned up anything that could be used to stop this.” Hanzo grunted again. “Asahi has found no other names, either.”

Genji nodded thoughtfully. “I will do the investigation myself, if you like.”

“I need you tracking down that missing money. How it went astray, where it went, and who is responsible.” Hanzo clucked his tongue. “What have you turned up?”

Genji sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples. “The money appears to have gone through a Chinese export company to an account in Switzerland—.”

“Where Cousin Benke’s daughter—!”

Genji’s face lit up. “Yeah… His daughter has just gotten back from Switzerland, hasn’t she?”

“Investigate it. Get the money back.”

“Only one problem.”

“What now, Genji?”

“Whoever got it, also captured the attention of Overwatch.”

Hanzo groaned. “So we do not dare move the money back.”

“Not unless we want Overwatch on us.”

Hanzo sighed. “Then concentrate on Benke’s little family and his daughter. It could be our best lead.”

“And if he’s innocent?”

Hanzo shrugged. “I trust you to be discrete.”

Meanwhile, Mai had come over to visit Takara while they were gone. They were quickly busy in Hanzo’s bathroom with all manner of tubes and containers and compacts everywhere. The auburn haired woman had several pencils and brushes in her hands and was staring in the mirror as she carefully lined her eyes with kohl. The black haired woman picked up the various pieces, a washcloth in her hands as she brushed up powder and stains.

“This is so luxurious,” Mai murmured as her thin line ended on the outside of her eye and she began to draw a tiny heart. “I mean…seriously. Where else would we have just oodles of time to just be beautiful?” Takara shrugged a little, smiling at their reflections in the mirror. “Not to mention tons of money to spend.”

“You sound happy,” Takara muttered.

Mai tilted her head, making a face in the mirror. With a nod, she blonde set the pencil down and picked up some gloss. “I suppose that I am happy.” She shrugged and dabbed some gloss on her lips. “At least, as happy as I guess I could expect to be….” She looked over her shoulder. “Do you remember what Asahi said?”

“That we would be lucky to be bought?” Takara muttered sadly. “We’d be lucky to find someone who was willing to spend money on us and that we might end up with twenty other girls on a street corner.”

Mai nodded. “We both did all right. You have one and only one master. I have one and only one master. No other women to get snotty that we were bought or to boss us around.” She waved a hand at the cosmetics. “Money to do more or less what we want to with it.”

“It’s not our money,” Takara murmured.

“We still get to spend some of it,” Mai chuckled. “All we need to do is to ask our beloved masters.” She cocked her head at the brunette. “Don’t tell me…is he stingy with you? He doesn’t want you spending anything?”

Takara paused. Then she laughed nervously. “Of course not. I have what I really want and I have what I need….” 

Mai smiled a little with some sadness. She set down the makeup slowly. With a slow shake of her head, she helped the other woman gather everything up and then she shuffled everything into a pretty pink bag with roses embroidered on it. “Can you keep a secret?”

Takara paused, staring. “I…I…I guess. What’s on your mind?”

“I kinda don’t want to be here,” Mai whispered. “But I am also happier here than I ever have been.”

“Oh, Mai,” Takara sighed. “We will sit and talk about it.” She led the blonde to the couch and sat down with her. “What on earth is wrong? You were just so happy….”

Mai shuddered and nodded, staring at her hands and nervously shuffling things around in her bag. “I mean…we are lucky. I know we are lucky. And compared to what Asahi told us about most of the people who could have bought us—there’s just…I can’t get around it.”

“Get around what?”

“I mean…we were bought like puppies. We were so close to getting in real trouble.” She shuddered again, suddenly going pale. “Remember that one sneezy guy? One girl said he was in there every month or so.”

“Everyone said that he killed the other butterflies.”

“I know. He scared me to death. I think that if they hadn’t shot me up with stuff before I hurled on the runway from him staring at me.” Mai looked at Takara curiously. “How did you get out of it?”

Takara felt her cheeks grow hot. “I….” Hot tears pricked her eyes. “It was my second auction.” She shrugged a little. “If I wasn’t bought, I’d be sold somewhere else. I knew that it was my last chance or else I’d be in some whorehouse where I’d be with twelve guys a night.” She smothered a giggle. “I had motivation to get bought.”

“Yeah…but the pink butterfly was ‘motivated’ too and got jabbed twice.” She shrugged. “It’s a wonder he didn’t fall over.”

“I told them that I’d be sick if I got more of it. And that I’d do whatever they wanted without complaint.” Her hands fluttered nervously. “So, I did it—whatever they wanted. It took weeks, but I did go out there without the drugs.” She sighed and hung her head. “So, I was ready to stand on my head if Asahi wanted it.”

“He might have,” Mai nodded, shuffling things around again.

“I wanted out more than anything.” Takara shrugged. “So I wanted to get out and…and I was so glad that anyone bid on me. I just looked at him and he seemed like he wanted to leave. I wanted someone—anyone!—to bid so that I didn't get in worse trouble, but I was thinking ‘I want it to be him’—and I couldn't believe that he did.” She looked at the other woman. “I couldn't believe it—that out of all the women there, he bid on me. I almost cried—.”

“Then what happened?” Mai nudged her a little. “I mean, I didn't go through the whole program….”

“I got to that tiny room and Asahi comes in and starts his act. Then…he left. Hanzo spoke to me and…he asked me what I wanted!” Mai gasped and sat up straighter. “I couldn't believe it either. Nothing Asahi had said was going to happen did. And even when Asahi came back and began his little speech and recommendations, the only thing I hadn't agreed to before hand was…my eyes.”

“Asahi? He didn't react well to that, I’ll bet.”

Takara shook her head, a dark flush to her cheeks. “No…but he was nice until the end. Then my stomach rumbled.” 

Mai moaned in sympathy. “Asahi must have gone nuts. Did he go nuts right then? Or later when the customers were gone?”

Takara looked at her sideways. “Later. All the way down to the bottom of my feet.” She shrugged. “It felt like the worst thing, but the worst wasn't until the day after. Then, the doctor's came.”

Mai glanced at her. “I can't imagine what that was like—.”

Takara smiled sadly. “That’s the worst part, sometimes. I agreed to it all. I thought I was smart. I wanted a little more curves—a bit more bust. Just in case—you know—I ended up dropped off at a street corner. A little bit more, just in case.” She let out a bark of hoarse laughter. “I was sure that no one could be so lucky. I mean…it’s—there’s just no way he would want me.” Tears began running down her face. “At first, I was scared that he didn't want me at all. That he was going to change his mind. I couldn't figure out if he wanted all the mods or didn't want to spend any money on me. I was trying to be smart again, so I went for the halfway measure—not too expensive but not without his own style. Asahi told us that we'd be more valuable if the men modified us, right?”

The black butterfly shrugged a little. “I was so sick. There were so many injections and drips of medicines—.” She glanced at Mai’s green pallor. “I almost wanted to die. I was so sick and I swear, I could almost feel the nanites crawling underneath my skin.” She shuddered and then added, “But I didn't want to die in Asahi’s house. Not there. I'd take my chances on the street before dying there. But every time they would give me more hormones or another IV of stuff, I'd get sick and swear that I was not going to die there. Not like the—.”

“The what?” Mai whispered.

Takara whispered softly. “The red butterfly.” She shuddered and glanced sourly at Mai. “The red butterfly…didn’t make it. She…. H-h-her master put the most enormous breasts on her and then her waist went to nothing—they took out four ribs to make the measurements. Then she was pierced—her tongue, her nose, a few more. She…she looked like a cartoon character, but something happened and her tongue swelled. The doctors—I heard them—said that she had an allergy to one of the types of plastic that was used. She couldn’t take that much plastic and…she—.”

“She what?”

“She…well…I suppose she went easy. They had all of us on IVs and medicines, but when Asahi decided that she wouldn’t make it, they just pulled out all the needles and rolled her bed out. A few hours later, it came back empty.” Takara brushed the tears out of her eyes. “I didn’t see her again. The doctors came back the next day and said that they had reclaimed her nanites so that the next red butterfly could use them.”

Mai nodded absently. “So…?”

“So he just replaced her—there was another red-head that the buyer approved as a substitute and before I left, they had begun swelling her body up to get her ready.” She nodded a little sadly, brushing tears out of her eyes. “If my master hadn’t been so insistent, then it might have happened to me.”

Mai sighed sadly. “I had…no idea.” She shuddered. “I just got out…as soon as I could with Genji. He took me out and I didn’t have to do any of that.” She put the bag aside. “I’m sorry that you had to go through it all. And all alone.”

“We were all alone in that place,” Takara snarled. “All of us.”

Mai looked away. “Hard to be alone in a place with…what? Thirty or more caterpillars?”

“Yet we were alone. We did not talk. We did not so much as eat together if it could be helped. Every one of us went to the auction alone and none returned. We were altered separately. I didn’t see another soul except for the doctors and Asahi while I was being altered.” Takara glanced up blankly. “I didn’t even know that another butterfly was here until my master mentioned it.”

“Yet…you are here with me,” Mai muttered. “We are not alone anymore.” She cocked her head. “We are…not all alone.”

Takara smiled softly. “I am glad that you are here with me, but…I am not free. Not like you.”

Mai flushed a little. “If you asked, maybe you would be allowed—?”

Takara shook her head softly. “Your master is very kind, Mai. He allows you to wander the estate. He buys you what you wish.” She smiled coquettishly. “You must please him greatly.”

Mai’s face turned red as she fiddled with her bag one more time. “I…I do nothing to please him. At least…not that way. Mostly we sit and talk and then he sleeps on the couch and I in the bed.”

“But…but…how can that be? For him to do so much for you and not…. Not even, once?”

“Not even once, Takara,” Mai whispered. Then, she added gleefully, “That’s why I think that, maybe, he’s telling the truth….”

“The truth?”

“He…he wants to take down Asahi. He wants to stop that foul man from doing anything like this to anyone else.” Mai looked at her sister butterfly anxiously. “And…and we could do it, I think, if we had the evidence….”

Takara frowned. “And even if you do, what kind evil would take his place?” After a small pause, she added, “But if this is what you both wish to do, then I hope you succeed.”

Mai smiled widely. “But would you…. Maybe, could you talk to Genji?”

Takara shook her head and began fiddling with a fluttery lock of hair. “I cannot. My master has strictly forbidden it.”

“They are brothers, Takara,” Mai whispered.

“I know. But…my master is not like yours. He is kind—far kinder than what Asahi told us to expect. He is…generous in his own ways, but he is the older son and….” She shrugged lamely. “We are not like that.”

Takara gently took the younger woman’s hand. “But if you and…Master Genji are happy together, if you can make it work, then I am very happy for you both.”

“Does your master allow you to do anything?” Mai pouted a little. “We could walk—.”

“No,” Takara sighed. “I must stay here.”

“Just in the gardens?”

“No,” Takara sighed again. “My master wants me to stay here. It cannot be helped. He is busy—very busy—and I must be here when he can come here and when he needs me.”

“Only here?”

Takara laughed bitterly. “I am happier here than other places.” At Mai’s questioning look, she explained, “I was…I sat with our masters’ father for a while, so that my master would not worry about his health.”

“Genji said that he was an evil man—even worse than Asahi.”

Takara tried to laugh. “Yes…far worse in his way than Asahi. At least Asahi wanted to keep us somewhat well and hale and hearty. That old man—,” she laughed bitterly. “—he wanted to keep me for himself since my master…had…not….”

“Not...what?”

Takara shrugged a little and blushed. “You know.”

“Oh!”

“So…I’d rather be here than with his father any day.” She cocked her head thoughtfully, not really staring at the blank television screen. “And my master is a generous lover.” Mai laughed a little nervously. “He cares about my pleasure as much as his own. His eyes…they shine with pride when I climax…like he is happy that I’m doing it. That giving me pleasure…energizes him.”

Mai stared at the soft tears running down Takara’s cheeks. “You love him, don’t you, you poor fool.”

Takara nodded and closed her eyes. “I know…I am a fool.” She waved at the apartment bitterly. “It was the first thing we learned from Asahi, wasn’t it? To not fall in love, because we were so easily replaceable.” She sighed heavily. “When the master marries, I will have to vanish from here—.”

“Will you go back home?”

Takara shook her head. “I don’t have a home to go back to. I…I am made wrong, I think. I wanted to see what sex and love was about and…I went out with a boy. An American exchange student.” Her fists balled up. “I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but he went out and told everyone what we did. Worse, he took a recording of us and when it spread to my parents, they threw me out.” She growled a little. “I ended up homeless because they would not listen, would not relent—I had dishonored them completely.”

“So I went to a shelter. I lived there for about a year while I finished school. Then there was nothing—nowhere to go. I heard rumors that a man was looking to hire women as models for his business.”

“Asahi?” Mai asked and Takara nodded.

“And when I went and filled out the application, I was taken to see him. He looked me over and nodded and then offered me some tea while we were supposed to discuss my pay. When I woke up, I was in with another batch of caterpillars.” She gritted her teeth, gradually growing more angry. “I was on their drugs for so long—more than a year—and then went through the training for another year and then a third year of trying to get off of the drugs and convincing them that I liked sex and that I wouldn’t cause problems with the others. Someone convinced Asahi it could be a selling point, since I was not a virgin.” Finally, Takara sighed and bowed her head. “So, literally, this is the end of the line—as good as my life will get. I have no friends, no family—nothing outside of these walls.”

“Then come with me. With Genji,” Mai whispered urgently. Grabbing her companion’s arm, she murmured, “We…we are….”

There was a soft knock on the door and it swung open scarcely a moment afterwards. Genji popped in and grinned, “Mai…we are off the hook for the afternoon and there’s a party this evening.” He bowed and offered her his arm. “If your companion wants to, she can come with us…?”

Mai shook her head and picked up her bag. Over her shoulder, she said, “Maybe next time we will make up your face, huh?” The other woman nodded blankly. “Just…wash your face quickly before your master sees your red eyes.”

Genji was escorting her down the hallways with his usual smile when suddenly, she darted into an empty room. He grinned at the empty sitting room and its assortment of low tables with cushions and go boards and then nodded urgently. Mai closed the door as silently and slowly as she could and then went to a table and dumped out her makeup bag.

“What’s all this, Mai?” Genji whispered. “I was thinking we’d do something more interesting than look at make—!”

Mai pulled out the little recorder from her bag and fiddled with the buttons. Takara’s voice came out clearly as she described the red butterfly. Genji’s hands covered hers quickly and he silenced the device with a devious smile.

“You crazy little idiot,” he whispered, dropping a chaste peck to her brow. “I was wondering where that went and why you were so eager to go visit her with your new makeup bag.”

“Did…did I do all right?” She beamed at him. “Will this help?”

Genji nodded, cradling her hands and the recorder in his. “This is a hundred times better than anything that I could have hoped for.” He smiled at her warmly. “If you weren’t such a squirt, I’d kiss you.”

Mai’s cheeks flushed happily. “You never know, you old codger. We young things might be able to teach you a thing or two!”

Genji laughed again. “Just…hey… Just wait until you’re sixteen, huh? I’ll give you the biggest, best sweet sixteen party you’ve ever imagined and then a special sweet sixteen kiss.” He turned a little serious. “And don’t wait for me, okay? You know I’m bad news and if the real thing comes along—a really good guy and not one who’s just pretending—then you pounce on him instead, okay?”

Mai shook her head. “I’m waiting for you, idiot.”

Genji puffed out his cheeks. “I know, but I still think you’re crazy to. I’m gonna try one more time to talk to Hanzo, then we’re out of here.”

“When?”

“Tonight,” he whispered so softly that Mai could scarcely hear him. “Tonight we’re going out with some lovely folks to a party. I’m going to sneak out and you’re going to go with them to Switzerland.” He shrugged. “If Hanzo is with us, we’ll join you. If not, then I’ll make my way there alone.” He brushed a kiss to her knuckles. “And no matter what, if anyone asks about me, make up whatever stories you want—the raunchier, the better. I have a bad reputation to keep up.”

“What? My knight in shining armor has a terrible reputation?”

They laughed again and then were silent, both staring at the recorder. Genji spoke first. “You’ll be safe. They have almost everything anyway and I’ve put the money in the account so you can go to school and make something of yourself. Be a doctor like you’ve always wanted.” He winked. “And with this recording and your evidence—even if we can’t get anything else—I think that we can take Asahi down as well.”

She stuffed everything back in the pink bag. “But what about you…and Hanzo?” She swallowed. “What if he discovers that you took the money? Won’t he be mad?”

“We’ll work something out. Cousin Benke was stealing some too, so maybe the heat won’t catch up to me until we’re gone,” he whispered. Then he straightened, smirked and said, “Now let’s get you ready to party, huh?” He winked at her, which made her giggle. “And wear that nice sparkly gold dress, okay?”

Mai nodded and slid on the cocktail dress and the black velvet shawl that Genji provided. He was in a new suit—gunmetal grey and superbly fitted—with a dark green tie and a boutonnière of a creamy white rose. He cocked a smile and slid a matching corsage on her wrist. With a reckless smile, he led her out to the waiting limo.

Mai was breathless with excitement until she realized that there were other people in the limo as well—a large, dark skinned man in a black suit who looked like he never smiled and a fair skinned lady with wavy blonde hair in a dark blue dress that looked like an avenging angel. Suddenly, shy, she turned to Genji.

“Mai—meet Angela and Gabriel. They’re going to be traveling with you.” Mai tried to smile at the others, but the dark skinned man only snorted and frowned restlessly as he watched out the window. The other woman poked his ribs with her elbow but otherwise smiled back. “In a few minutes, I’m going to stop and hop out….”

The woman spoke first. “You will have to be careful, sir.” She tossed him a tiny device that looked like a miniature cellphone. “We do want you in one piece.”

Gabriel crossed his arms. “You must have balls as big as church bells—leaving the Shimadas like this.” He snorted with what might be respect and muttered something in broken Spanish. “Desertion is a capital offense where I’m from.”

Genji rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Just get her to Switzerland like we agreed.” He pulled a pair of swords out from under the seat and then tapped on the privacy screen. The limo slowed down and, with another careless grin at Mai, he opened the door and rolled out.

Gabriel grunted, grabbing the door and slamming it shut. Mai yelped as the entire vehicle seemed to rock with the force. Angela smoothed her dress and reached out to her hand. “Don’t worry—things will be fine. We have a monitor on him and a locator, so we can find him at a moment’s notice.” Ignoring Gabriel as he slumped like a dark and sinister shade, the blonde smiled and asked, “So, I understand you want to learn medicine? I’ll be happy to get you started.”

And Mai felt like, maybe things would work out…at least for her. If only Genji were here—then her life would be completely good.

After lunch, Hanzo had planned to go visit Takara. He had even gone so far as to lock his office up when a servant came bustling down with a cream colored envelope. Mentally groaning, he took the envelope when it was given to him.

As the reigning master of the clan, he would hardly sign one of these to summon himself. So, some of them had managed to scratch together enough courage to turn on him. Opening the envelope, he glanced at the four seals. It didn’t matter who signed it, but it was amusing that it took four of them to scratch up enough moxie to challenge him now. Involuntarily, his back tightened and he automatically crushed the summons in his fist. There was nothing to be done—only to face them again.

The room was similarly silent to the last time he had done this and bile came up in his throat. But as soon as all the elders noticed him, as one they rose and bowed towards him. That, somehow, didn’t make him feel better, even as he took the chair at the head of the table. Inexplicably, the chair at the foot of the table was empty.

Uncle Sora shuffled some papers and finally said, “Something must be done, Master Shimada.”

He looked tightly at the uncle. “Indeed?”

The cousins and Kaito looked at Sora expectantly, nodding slightly. The elder cleared his throat and began again. “Master Shimada. Something must be done…about Genji.”

Hanzo’s eyebrows went up, but he said nothing more. What on earth had Genji bungled now? Undoubtedly, he would be told, but he knew he’d rather not deal with this.

“With all due respect, Master Shimada,” his uncle continued stiffly. “We do recognize that things have…been different since your honored father passed, but we cannot countenance Genji’s continual disruption.” He slid a pile of black and white photos and a neatly paper-clipped set of receipts to Hanzo. “These things cannot be allowed to continue.”

A cousin further down the table murmured, “It is a disgrace. Even worse, a dishonor.”

Hanzo looked through the photos dispassionately. The first few were of Genji taking Mai out on the estate—wandering through the gardens, sitting in one of the immense rooms as they chatted, and then one as she lounged against a kitchen table and he was having her taste something he had cooked with a ridiculous “Kiss the Cook” apron on. The next few were of Genji out in town—a few with unfamiliar women and more with Mai—as he escorted the women to parties or out shopping.

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. “This appears to be my younger brothers doing what young men do.”

Sora—who apparently was the elected spokesman—nodded shortly. “He is…a young man, certainly, but if you will continue looking…?”

Hanzo sighed impatiently, paging through several receipts that showed piles of orders for women’s fashions, designer shoes, makeup, club fees and admissions, pairs of tickets to shows and trips. The next set of photographs showed Genji—as a younger man, Hanzo noted absently—in various poses with multitudes of women and men in parties and clubs. He had a few that were actually scandalizing—hot tubs or beaches or pools or such—but most seemed to simply be Genji doing what he wanted.

Hanzo sighed, willing himself not to groan impatiently. “Genji is a young man—.”

“Indeed,” his uncle nodded. “But it is long past time for him to take responsibility and to join in supporting you as he should.”

“He’s young,” murmured someone else. “There is no reason for fussing—.”

“He still needs correction. He needs to support the clan and needs to bring in more money than he spends.”

Hanzo honestly couldn’t agree more, but that was hardly the point. Silently, he passed the pile back to his uncle.

The elder’s face turned red and he puffed out angrily. “This cannot be allowed to continue. If you are not aware, Master Shimada, but we have lost face with the other yakuza because of his antics. Until you take a wife, he is your heir and must behave well! We cannot have him consorting with…with whores and prostitutes and—and—!”

Hanzo sighed patiently. “I seem to remember rumors of…others spending time with questionable females.”

The uncle sputtered as one of the other cousins nodded. “I…I refuse—!”

Hanzo muttered, “Have you ever thought about when you were so young?”

Everyone tittered, more out of respect for Hanzo than out of mirth. He didn’t laugh, only looked at them solemnly until they were silent. Sora flushed darkly, grinding his teeth. As the muttering laughter died down, the older man pulled another few papers out.

“Then explain these,” the older man smiled viciously.

He set the papers in front of Hanzo and had he dropped an anvil on the table, it could not have rattled more. Hanzo slowly reached out and pulled them closer.

“While Genji was supposed to be carrying out your orders, we do seem to find him meeting with all sorts of people!” He looked at Hanzo with less respect than ever.

A lower ranking elder—a distant cousin—grumbled, “We never had these problems when your father was alive.”

Hanzo looked at the papers. The neatly typed list of dates, locations and names and Hanzo gritted his teeth as some of the names stood out as people who were investigating Asahi. Others were police officers—duly noted with rank and department. In other words, it was…damning on the surface.

“These could be coincidental,” Hanzo said softly. “And I sent him to ‘assist’ a partner with some legal issues.”

Everyone was silent, staring as Hanzo who was suddenly still and thoughtful. The air was electric, crackling with tension. Hanzo frowned as even the dragons on his shoulder became fretful and fractious, and they felt like static under his skin.

His uncle cackled suddenly, breaking the silence. “Do you finally see that Genji must be taken in hand? We must restore the honor of Shimada!”

“Honor?” Hanzo asked softly. “You speak of honor?”

The older man rose suddenly, banging his fists on the table. “I will not stand for this insolence.” Every man sucked in his breath. “The honor of Shimada is continually smeared every day that Genji is allowed to live!”

Hanzo bolted up, glaring at every man there. He pointedly cracked his knuckles. “Genji is my brother.”

His uncle paled but refused to back down from the cold death in Hanzo’s gaze. “He is a disgrace.” Slamming his fist down again, Sora growled, “I will not take orders from someone who cannot bring one childish man into line. It is a disgrace to you and your honored father for coddling him so. I am ashamed to be in such a family that allows this to go on.”

Everyone muttered nervously. Another cousin stood, nodding, “It cannot go on. If Genji is talking to the police, he must be stopped—.” He glanced at Hanzo nervously. “But he need not die. We do not need to lose the heir apparent.”

Another man stood—Benke. All but rubbing his hands together, he nodded, “But Genji will not be the heir apparent if Hanzo has a wife and we can expect that children are on the way….” He glanced in a false innocence at his fellows. “I believe that our master marrying my daughter will allow for the assurance of heirs and another generation of Shimada.”

Several agreed and others were shaking their heads. Finally a tonsured head snapped softly, “You’ve been trying to marry off that shrew for years. Why would she be a better wife than a—?”

Hanzo growled low, staring at Benke. “Proud words from someone whose daughter has recently returned from Switzerland….”

“Switzerland? What? Why?”

“Genji reported to me that some of the missing money did reappear in a bank in Switzerland.”

Benke’s mouth opened and shut uselessly and he went suddenly pale as all of the other elders watched him curiously. “It is n-n-nothing.” He stammered uselessly for a moment. “No..no…. I…! It isn’t true!” Everyone silently stared at him as he scrambled for a defense. “A…and besides…. At least she is a Shimada and not a useless whore!”

Hanzo stared at the man coldly. “What do you mean by that?”

Everyone suddenly watched as their master’s eyes suddenly glowed blue. Tiny glowing flickers seemed to drift from his lashes and his shoulder seemed to have a peculiar, restless tic. With malice bleeding off of him, he slid off his expensively tailored jacket and allowed it to fall to the chair. His fingers precisely pushed the golden cufflinks out of his sleeve, dropped them on the flawless table, and then folded his sleeve back.

As one, the elders stared in horror at the lowest coil of Hanzo’s tattoo. It wasn’t much—a swirl of color, a thin line of a dragon’s whisker, a claw—but the outlines were glowing blue and seemed to almost be cracking as they curled on his flesh.

A small man near the foot of the table whispered, “Let’s all sit down and just…just talk this over.” He smiled feebly and fearfully. “We have had these sorts of things happening for…for centuries and there is no need…for violence…?”

Everyone else sat down heavily, the chairs squealing as they were reluctantly drawn back towards the table. Benke swallowed nervously, his bravado vanishing. Then Sora took to shuffling papers and fiddling with the wire paperclip.

Hanzo kept standing over them, his bare arm flexing and ignoring the prickling as the inked dragon’s nose suddenly flickered into view. “I believe that you had something to say, Benke?”

Benke looked around and found that none of the elders would meet his gaze. Nodding solemnly, he bowed his head for a moment of silent reflection and then said, “I was…saying that my daughter would be a fit consort, Master. She was—is…beautiful, polished, educated and obedient. She…she understands w-w-what it means to be a Shimada wife and…has…known no other man.”

Hanzo snorted darkly. “Is that all you were saying? Are you telling me that you want me to marry?”

Benke swallowed nervously again and then muttered, “I…I…. Yes?”

Hanzo slammed a hand down and the polished lacquer top cracked. “Are you telling me what to do?”

Benke moaned softly as he flinched backward before flopping down in his chair. “N-no! No, Master Shimada! I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do!”

Hanzo’s eyes flickered side to side, taking in the gaze of everyone in the room. “Good. Does anyone else want to play matchmaker?”

Sora whispered, “At least a married woman over a whore, Master.” He gestured feebly. “The ‘silver-eyed whore’ your father screamed about taking from you is an unnecessary problem and should be disposed of. And everyone could hear him shouting from the hallways, so we do not need to try to argue about who or what she is.” His uncle shivered dramatically. “And we also need to deal with Genji and his whore as well.”

“Oh?” His eyes narrowed. “You have an…interesting take on the situation…. I suppose you have a plan for Genji as well?”

Sora only smiled in a way that suggested that he laughed when he saw people mutilated and broken.

After an hour of useless cleaning and pottering around, Takara was content that most everything was back in order. She felt safe lounging around, and was looking under the coffee table for the remote when she saw a single kohl pencil on the floor. Clucking, she picked it up, trying to figure out where to put it so that it did not disturb the pristine clean of the room, but where she could give it back to Mai.

A sudden idea overtook her and she went to the bathroom. With the help of the mirror, she drew the Shimada crest on her shoulder. Posing in the light, she thought it didn’t look half bad. Maybe her master would appreciate seeing it—a little something different. It made her feel exotic—a little wanton like her master was fond of calling her—and she found she liked her pretend mark. It was like she was…like she belonged to him.

The door opened again and she pulled up the neckline so that it was hidden. Her master would be surprised and then, who knew? Going into the sitting room with a smile, she was startled to find Hanzo staring at her blankly.

“M-m-master?” she whispered.

“Takara,” he greeted solemnly as he sat down on the couch. He said nothing else and she swallowed heavily, unsure of what she had done to upset him.

“C-can I help you, Master?” She crept closer, hoping to discover what was going on. All of her playfulness drained out as she stared at his drawn and pale face. He didn’t seem to even notice her approach, and was stone still when she knelt beside him and touched his knee.

They were still, so still, and Takara was sure she would quickly lose the little lunch she had eaten if the tension did not finally break. But as bleak as he looked, she wasn’t convinced she wanted whatever was holding him back to snap.

Finally, one hand petted her head. She smiled automatically as his fingers stroked her hair. She whispered, “I’m glad you’re home, Master.”

“Are you?” His voice was so deep, so lost, it felt like it drained the light from the room. He let a finger drift down her cheek slowly. “Are you really?”

She looked up, smiling, and nuzzled his hand. “I am really glad that you are home.”

“Takara,” he whispered. She looked up at him and her smile faded to a ghost of itself. He was as pale as death and every plane of his features was shadowed with grief. “Are you truly glad that your akuma—your devil—has wandered home?”

She smiled and nodded and dropped a soft kiss to his hand as it brushed the hair from her face. “Why would I not be glad that you are here?”

He did not seem to want to answer, just stared at her as he stroked her hair and face at his knee. Finally, his lips tweaked upward mirthlessly. “So, you are glad that your beast is home at last.” 

“Then I suppose it is meet that you should face your monster.” His other hand pulled the golden embroidered cloth out of his hair so that it fell to his shoulders and then tossed it unusually carelessly over his shoulder. “Stand up and face me, if that is your choice.”

He pulled her to her feet as though she was a fragile and priceless princess. Wordlessly, he peeled off his jacket and dropped it on the couch. His eyes were locked on hers as his shaking hands peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside. As soon as Takara’s hand reached up, he grunted sharply and shook his head stiffly, peeling off his clothes himself.

“You are brave to face me,” he whispered, reaching gently for her chin. Lifting her head, he brushed a kiss on her lips. “So very brave.” With a sad sigh, he took one of her hands and trailed her fingertips over his body. “What do you feel?”

“I-I…I feel you,” Takara muttered.

He closed his eyes wearily. “What you do not feel…. You do not feel that I am a monster?” She shook her head a little. “I am, Takara. I am the worst monster you will ever face.” He drug her fingers across the tattoo on his shoulder. “I have killed. I have maimed. I have stolen and embezzled. There has never been a time that I have not spread drugs and violence in my wake.” Dragging her hand down to the tattooed dragon head. “And my greatest gift—the Shimada dragons—have assisted me.”

He drug her fingers up to his mouth again. “There have been more weapons, more drugs, more money, and more women flowing through here than any government wants to ever admit. It would literally cause a world-wide panic if it were known how much comes through here.”

He pushed her hands down to her waist, breaking contact suddenly like a glacier suddenly splitting as it floats off in the sea. “And I am master of it all. Every single yen. Every blade. Every gun. Every joint and every gram.” He traced her face a little sadly. “Everything you see. Everything you have eaten and drunk. It is all mine. My responsibility. My duty.” He seemed to laugh, but no sound came out. “And there is not a single thing I have not done to fulfill my responsibility.”

“Master?!” She mewled, a little frightened in spite of herself.

He nodded. “Touch me as you like, Takara.” She gently traced a finger along his chest. “It is your right to touch the monster in your bed.”

“You are not,” she whimpered. “You are not a m-m-monster.”

He smiled bitterly. “Oh, but I am. You just cannot see it on the surface.” He shrugged. “My father would allow beatings, encouraged them, but they rarely left a mark.”

Grabbing her hands suddenly, he pressed his thumbs into her knuckles until she moaned and her knees began to buckle. “You see? I am a monster.” Shrugging, he let go. “And now I must do the one thing I thought I never would have to.”

She looked at him with a confused mixture of pain and surprise as she gingerly rubbed her hands. “W-w-what? What has happened?”

He looked at her sadly. “The elders. They want to punish Genji and as the master of the clan and his older brother, I must bring him in tonight. Dead or alive.” He wasn’t really looking at her when he added, “I thought…perhaps if I was good enough, responsible enough, then I could shield him from the worst of them.”

She must have looked shocked because he suddenly smirked at her and stroked her face. “I need you, Takara.” She nodded and tentatively put her hand on his chest, hoping that he didn’t notice how it shook. “If you are content to have your monster, then you must accept the responsibility to take care of it.”

She nodded and pulled him gently to the bedroom. He slid off her clothes as gently as he knew how. When he saw the crest on her shoulder, he smiled sadly. “And now you want to be marked? To show the world you belong to the beast?”

She glanced up at him cautiously. “I…I l-l-liked it and…thought…you would.”

He nodded shortly. “I like it,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder. “It makes…me feel like I could claim you.”

She smiled at him. “I am yours.” Her hands pulled his head down closer, and she shivered as he nipped her skin. “More than any mark could make me.”

Their joining was quiet and quick, like the desperation that lingered in the air. He was gentle with her, stroking her quietly and thoroughly as though he was memorizing her body. His body shook whenever she touched him in return, but he was silent and stoic no matter what she did. Even when she suckled on his fingers or nuzzled his cheeks or softly cried his name, he was silent.

At the end, when even the last tiny flickers of pleasure were a memory, his hands palmed her belly gently as though he was soothed by it. She kept petting his hair silently, hoping that somehow he was relieved. Instead of relaxing, he seemed to grow more tense, his face more solemn and regretful. “I should have not had Asahi take this from you.” His hand almost completely covered her waist. “It was wrong of me, my treasure, and if I had not done it, there might be another small treasure here.” He kissed her navel. “Had we the time, we might have seen my seed sprout here….”

She tried to smile at him, tracing his cheekbones with a fingertip. “And would my master want a son?”

He did finally smile a little. “I would cherish your children. Your sons would be strong and I would teach them to be fine archers. Unparalleled warriors.” He pressed another kiss to her waist. “Your daughters would each be princesses of the clan and they would want for nothing.”

“Your children would be wonderful,” she murmured with a faint blush.

Instead of smiling back at her, he buried his face into her waist. “I would…would love them all and they would be my garden of treasures with you at the middle as my greatest prize.” He sighed and looked up wearily at her. “But that will never happen, Takara.

“As soon as Genji is brought before the elders, then I must marry and put you aside so that I can give my clan heirs.” He looked up at her with an agonized expression. “I had no idea how much I wanted—no, how much I needed you. And now, for your own sake and for mine, we must part. Even if I have never done anything else right, I will do this.”

She looked at him with hurt and confusion. He gave her a little smile, pushed himself off the bed and went to his pile of clothes. “Come here, Takara.” She followed him gamely, slightly amused by their casual nakedness. Pulling out a pile of folded papers and a small, leather bound book, he gave them to her. “These are now yours.” She looked at them curiously. “Even the elders saw the wisdom of allowing me to send you away peacefully in exchange for my cooperation.”

Takara felt a scream building in her head, but instead she spread the papers out, looking at the curious lease agreement in a townhouse in a town she had never heard of, the visas, tickets and passport listing her as “Mariko Yomata” and a transcript from a school she had never heard of in a town she had never been in. The little book showed a starting balance of some absurd amount. There was even a small, gold plastic card with the name Mariko Yomata on it.

“You have six months at this address and in that time, you will need to find work and a new place to live. No one will know that you have been mine and I will…never speak of you again.” He looked at her earnestly. “More importantly, no one will know about Asahi. You will be free.”

She looked up at him with worry and despair etched on her face. A few tears fell down her cheeks. “But what about you?”

He smiled at her. “If we are lucky, I will be a treasured memory.” He looked at the papers solemnly. “You will not see me again. I will spend each evening, praying that you are well and have all the success and happiness in the world.”

“And what will happen to you?”

“I will do my duty. I will go to my brother and bring him before the elders. They will dispense their punishment—.”

“No!” Takara whispered. Her face grew pale and she trembled.

“This must happen, Takara. And they have already selected a bride—my father’s choice for me. I must marry her and we will need to have children immediately so that my clan will continue.”

“A-a-and,” Takara stuttered. “Y-y-you love her?” She reached for his arm. “She m-m-makes you happy?”

He let a ghost of a smile cross his face and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “I have only seen her once—many years ago. She could not make me as happy as you have.” His rough thumb rubbed a tear off her cheek. “But I have to in order to fulfill my responsibility.”

“A-and you will love her?” Takara muttered.

“No, Takara,” he whispered. “I am going to have as little to do with her as I can. I cannot give her my heart because it has already be given to you.” He smirked sadly. “My evenings will be lonely without you until I am allowed to die. Then I will have a hope of seeing you in the afterlife.”

“But..NO!” She tried to push the papers back at him. “I will not let you…die…. Not alone. Not like this.” She shook her head wildly. “I…I will do whatever you need me to do. I will never leave this room again if that’s what you want. I’ll live in a c-c-closet. But, I won’t let you be alone.” She let out a howling sob and shoved the papers at him again. “I-I-I a-a-am not strong enough to—.”

He pushed them back in her hands. “You will, my treasure. You are strong, far stronger than you realize. You faced Asahi and got around him well enough. You were strong enough to face my father and his abuse without complaint. You will, in time, realize that you are better without me, and will—I hope—escape the damage that I will surely cause you.” He kissed her forehead. “Everything I have ever touched has been ruined—with drugs, with weapons, with violence. I will fulfill this responsibility to you and give you a good life—and you will live for me.”

Stepping back, he pointed to closet. In a low voice, he ordered her firmly. “Now, get dressed. I like the grey kimono on you. Wear it.” For a split second, she had a faintly stubborn set to her chin, but then he snapped impatiently. “Allow me this last command, Takara. You will be able to refuse orders soon enough.”

She nodded, setting the papers on his elaborate desk. Despite her lingering, she was in the grey kimono with her hair pulled back in a rubber band too quickly. He was in his suit again, looking every inch like a wealthy businessman. Takara knelt, picking up the gold cloth that held his hair and holding it to her chest.

“I…I am sorry, Takara,” he whispered as he plucked the cloth out of her hands. “I cannot even give you that. Nothing that can trace you back to me.” Out of the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a rather plain silver hairpin. “You should, by rights, be given my mother’s favorite pin and she left it to me to give to the one who held my heart. It would suit you—it is a silver Phoenix with two tiny diamonds in it—but instead, I must give you this one. There are over a hundred thousand like this one, all over the world, but the silver reminded me of you.”

He wrapped her in a heavy, traditional coat with a hood. Despite her tears, he pulled the hood up over her head and wrapped a scarf over her face. He escorted her through the halls silently, taking her at last through his mother’s gardens, and out to the limo. Two guards sat with them as they started to the airport.

“W-w-will I ever see you again?” she whispered again as the city flashed past the windows.

“No,” Hanzo sighed. “Not if I…cooperate with them and if you are lucky.”

“Then, you will—?”

“I will see you to the airport. You will go to Terminal 8 and board your plane and vanish out of Japan.” He studied the cellphone in his hands for a moment. “I will go to meet Genji. He has told me where to find him. Then, I will bring him in for his punishment—or do it myself.”

“B-but what about Mai?”

He nodded, but said nothing. That bleak look was back on his face and Takara did not dare to ask him anything else.

The airport was busy, men and women walking to and fro and cars stopping and starting for passengers to keep milling about. The bodyguard in the passenger seat opened her door and helped her out, handing her a small carry on and pointing to the door marked ‘Terminal 8’. Takara nodded, her head down and her steps shuffling as she disappeared into the crowd.

Hanzo had the limo wait several minutes after she had gone into the building and vanished up the escalator to await her plane. She made his heart swell with pride—she did not flinch or look back, just made her shuffling way out of his sight. There wasn’t a lot to do after that—just signal the driver to go on.

The city looked different as they wove back through the streets. There seemed to be more garbage on the corners, more graffiti on the walls, and more beggars lurking in the shadows. The buildings seemed more run down, less occupied and more…. He had no words for how empty and depressing the entire city now seemed.

It seemed as though the only point of light was the blinking lights of a departing plane heading west.

The slick and shiny car stopped where Hanzo signaled. The noodle restaurant was all but destroyed. The small bookshop that had been beside it was a mess—gang signs and spray paint covered it and all the windows shattered. The small dress shop that had been across the alley was boarded up.

Hanzo signaled the limo to stop at the alley. His guards opened his door and then the trunk. With a heavy sigh, he picked up the ornate bow and slung his quiver on his back. Then he snapped and pointed down the street.

The bodyguards looked around nervously and finally nodded before going back in the car and driving away

Hanzo sighed, looking at the alley. Walking away from the dim and flickering streetlight, he watched the broken rooftops carefully. “I am here, Genji,” he called.

There was no answer.

He kept walking, certain that his younger brother was there. Then, around a some dumpsters, he saw it. There was a line of battered milk crates with ramshackle pieces of cardboard and metal on top. Pieces of cardboard with sweets and dumplings drawn on them were set on construction paper with occasional broken pieces of plastic forks at each place. He walked around to the head of the table and his foot kicked something.

The broken basket was mildewed and unraveling. There was a raggedy piece of fabric spilling out and a torn rag doll lay face down in the dirt. For an all too brief moment, he wanted to pick it up and tuck the doll back into the basket with its blanket. Then he would turn to Yui and they would—. 

Do nothing. Nothing could happen.

“Genji!” Hanzo shouted again. “I have come for you.”

From somewhere above him, he heard a high pitched voice, “Hanzo! Come out and play!” Unerringly, he fired at the sound. His arrow hit something and it fell—the pile of boxes collapsing almost on top of him. A small piece of electronics—a recorder of some kind—shattered on the cracked concrete.

“Genji! I grow tired of these games.” Hanzo growled at the darkness.

“You love games!” came the reply from across the alley. “You’re the father and we’re all uncles and aunts for Ichika’s doll. Don’t you remember?”

Hanzo fired another arrow at Genji’s voice. Another pile of rubbish came down. “Genji! There is no time for games. We need to talk—now.”

Genji stepped out into the alley with his swords drawn. “Aww, come on, big brother. This is a big old reunion isn’t it? Yui, Aiko, Ichika—everyone’s here.” He cocked his head and snarled sarcastically, “Oh, yeah. That’s right. We’re all that’s left.”

Hanzo drew another arrow. “You knew this was coming.”

Genji sighed, “I knew—.”

“And you did not care.”

“—I care.” Genji stared at him. “I was just kind of hoping that you cared, too.”

“You have never cared,” Hanzo growled. “If you did, you would have been a part of things, taken responsibility…. You would have listened to the elders.”

“I did listen!” Genji insisted. “And I realized that this is what happens when we do listen to them. Look around! There were eight of us—and now there are two left. Just you and me.” He cocked his head. “But hey, this is what I get for thinking, right?”

“You will come with me,” Hanzo frowned.

“Where are we going?” Genji asked playfully. “I’m having fun right here.”

“You are going to come with me. You are going to face your punishments before the elders and you are going to finally take responsibility for your actions.” Hanzo casually sighted his arrow. “You are going to do this right or so help me, I am going—.”

“You’re going to do what?” Genji taunted. “You’re going to spank me?” He winked and snarled, “Kinky.”

Hanzo suddenly lowered his bow. “No. I am going to do far worse to you.”

Genji smirked and raised his swords. “You can’t do worse to me. I’ve lost the one person I cared for more than anything—my brother.” He laughed bitterly. “You literally can’t do worse.”

Hanzo smiled at him. “Mai.”

Genji paled—even in the dim light Hanzo could see it. “You…wouldn’t dare!”

“I would dare anything that will bring you into line,” Hanzo snapped. “I will not take your punishments for you—ever again. You will fulfill your duty. You will fulfill your responsibilities.”

“I will never go back to being a Shimada stooge,” Genji snarled. “Waiting on you and just letting the tide of damage rip everything apart. That is insanity.”

“Insanity is refusing to do your duty and thinking that you can escape punishment.” Hanzo smirked. “But, if you refuse, there is always Mai.”

“Leave her out of this!” Genji cried, leaping up and swinging his sword.

Hanzo jumped back. The arrow flew almost without thought, clipping Genji’s shoulder. Hanzo hoarsely called, “I will do whatever it takes—!”

“If you dare to go after Mai, I will find Takara,” Genji threatened. “I will, Hanzo. And you know that I can do it.”

“Takara?” Hanzo snarled. “She is already gone.”

Genji stumbled a little, looking at the bleak face of his older brother. “Don’t tell me….. Don’t tell me you killed her?”

“No!” Hanzo shouted. Genji was about to smile in relief, but his brother’s expression was so black and bleak that he did not dare. “I lost her. Because of you, I have lost her…. She is gone.”

“Go to her, Hanzo,” Genji prodded desperately. “You can go to her and—!”

“I cannot,” came the desolated reply. “She is gone and because of your antics, this is now the only way to ensure that she will live.” Hanzo fired a another shot that plowed into the wall beside Genji’s head. “You have forced me to become your enemy.” He pulled out and fired another arrow that hit on the other side of Genji’s head. “And now I am yours.”

“Then you must die,” Genji said softly. Almost completely silently, he vanished into the shadows, his swords becoming glittering shades of silver before becoming invisible.

Hanzo backed up into the shadows himself. Pulling out another arrow, he listened carefully. The light breeze sighed through the alley and the pretend plates fluttered to the ground. Crouching and scuttling towards a pile of what appeared to be wooden crates, he thought he saw Genji’s silhouette against the sky.

Taking a careful aim, he loosed the silent arrow.

Genji jumped aside, but was unprepared for the brilliant flash of light as the head of the arrow exploded on impact. The light blinded him temporarily, and he instinctively rolled for the shadows. He could not see, but heard another arrow thunk behind him where his chest was.

“You could have killed me,” Genji shouted.

Hanzo said nothing, only unleashed a powerful kick knocking aside the impromptu table and pretend feast. Running towards the building, Hanzo scrambled up a fire escape to where his arrow was still flashing. Genji had slipped behind something, another shadow, and Hanzo growled as he pulled another arrow.

“I know you are here, Genji,” he shouted. “I will make you face them.”

Genji didn’t reply—he would have been a fool to do so—but he did not appear to run, either. Hanzo crept around more debris—what might have been a pigeon coop or a greenhouse—and saw a trickle of something dark and wet on the rooftop.

“I know you are here,” Hanzo repeated as he studied the blood.

Without warning, the elder Shimada was literally blown off the rooftop as a green dragon erupted from behind some boxes, grew to the literal size of a bus in a few seconds, and then swooped down to pounce on him hungrily. Hanzo took the few seconds as he flew through the air to catch his breath and blindly slide another arrow into place. He grunted as he landed on his shoulders and skidded across the broken cement and pavement.

The dragon danced for a moment in the air before dissolving into green sparks. Hanzo kicked and rolled to his feet. “I know your dragons, Genji. I will find you no matter where you run. And the moment I cannot find your sorry carcass, I will spend every yen and every man I have to find Mai and make sure she suffers in every way that I can think of.” He laughed bitterly. “Do you want her to find out all the ways I can imagine?”

Genji’s voice floated over the alley. “You would never do that, anija.” Hanzo’s teeth gritted at his brother’s assurance and the casual slang for “older brother”. “You would never bring a teenager into our fight. She’s an innocent girl!”

“Try me,” Hanzo growled. “You know…. I would bet she would die screaming your name.” He shot another glowing arrow to the rooftop. “Should she die screaming for you to rescue her? Or maybe cursing your name that she ever saw you?”

“Don’t even think it, Hanzo!” Suddenly Genji emerged from a shadowed corner and pile of wood. “I’m warning you!”

Hanzo ducked behind something—a rickety pile of pallets—and pulled another arrow. “I am warning you, brother.” He smirked and shouted, “I am bringing you before the elders, dead or alive.”

Genji nodded solemnly. “Nice to know the odds.” He looked over the alley, briefly relieved that there did not appear to be even beggars or hookers on these blocks. “You don’t need to find Mai, Hanzo. I’m right here.”

Suddenly the green dragons blossomed into the air, spinning around each other and plowing into the ruin of the noodle shop and turning aside slowly enough that even the bookshop began to collapse into a pile of rubble. Hanzo leapt into the alley, kicking the destroyed basket aside, as the building fell into a heap.

Hanzo watched as Genji leapt down and landed lightly on the cement. The swords glittered wickedly as the ninja crept closer. Hanzo crouched into the shadows, waiting patiently. As the other man crept ever closer, he took his aim and then let the arrow whistle through the air.

Genji dropped a sword as the arrow buried into his left shoulder. He cursed eloquently, jumping backwards into a shallow shadow. “I don’t want to fight you, Hanzo. You are my brother!” He swallowed heavily. “You are all I have left.”

Hanzo pulled out an arrow and loaded the bow again. He jumped out of the darkness into the alley and fired, tagging Genji’s side and burying it into the wall behind him. “You have cost me dearly already. I would not advise adding to the cost!” Picking up the sword himself, he growled, “I have no brother if you cannot join me, fight for the Shimada and dedicate your life to our clan.”

A small, wounded sound echoed from Genji as his brother backed away again. “I want my brother back.”

“You want the impossible.”

“So be it,” Genji said grimly. He pushed off the wall and dropped into a graceful crouch. “If you want me, Master Shimada, then quit hiding behind your bow and face me.”

Hanzo’s hand gripped the sword blade and let it bounce in the light. The silver reflection bounced dim flashes of light everywhere. “Perhaps, you are not thinking straight. Perhaps you forget your duty and your clan.” He crept closer, every sense focused on the sound of Genji. “Are you going to come with me? Come home, brother.”

“Never!” Genji snarled. “I have no home. I have no family. I have nothing. Thanks to you.”

Hanzo gaped as Genji turned and scrabbled up the fire escape again. No home? No family? He cursed and, flexing his arm, released the blue dragons. They blossomed to the size of a double decker bus as he sent them to attack Genji’s back. Genji howled as they burned away a chunk of wall and the fire escape around him.

Hanzo felt ill as he saw them burn against his brother’s skin. Then Genji fell backward, hitting the street clumsily. There were blisters on his skin and a distinct smell of burned meat in the air. Sliding off the quiver and setting down the bow, he leapt towards the other man.

Genji lifted his sword just in time to block, blood running from a cut and into his eye. His brother’s face was so close, so angry—so completely unlike he’d ever seen Hanzo before. For a moment, he didn’t want to block, didn’t want to continue. Let Hanzo beat him, who cared? If he did not have his brother, what did he have?

Hanzo sliced again, unamused by his brother’s paltry defense. “You are weak, Genji.”

“You’ve practically burned me alive,” Genji grunted. “Why are you even playing with me?” Hanzo stumbled back in what appeared to be shock. “Why not go for the kill?”

Hanzo stared at Genji as the slender man began to rise to his feet. “I do not want to kill you,” he said in almost a whisper. “I never did. I only wanted my brother to be at my side.”

Genji scowled. “Don’t you remember? I have no brother!” He leapt into the air and sliced down with the glittering blade. “The Shimada have destroyed my family and my home, just like they destroy everything else.”

Hanzo stumbled back at the violent attack. Genji kept advancing, slicing and flickering in and out of the checkered shadows. “I am the better swordsman,” Hanzo growled, blocking the blows. “You have no chance against me as badly as you are wounded.”

“I’ll take you to hell with me,” Genji grunted, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “I didn’t want to fight you, but I have no choice.” He let out an eerie howl like a wounded dog. “It’s not like I have anything to go back to anyway.”

Hanzo continued to stumble back as Genji attacked again and again. He blocked, over and over, but his heart sank as he saw the other’s eyes glaze over. The elder brother had seen it before—those who truly believed that they had nothing to live for but the death of their enemies. Genji had that look now, now…as though he only wanted to die.

With a growl, Hanzo pushed forward and the blade thrust forward with a whine. “I will bring you back. You will see—!”

“I will see nothing!” Genji growled, panting. “I will see—only your defeat. That’s all I want to see now.”

Hanzo kept slicing forward, upward and sideways, trying to stop Genji’s attack. He had to defeat his brother—had to disarm him. He had seen that desperation before—and it never ended well as the desperation drove them to kill others and then themselves. Genji must be stopped before he hurt—. A thousand cuts exchanged back and forth, each deeper than the last.

The younger Shimada’s blade sliced across Hanzo’s chest shallowly. Hanzo growled, the pain fueling him as he put a foot against a triangular jut of concrete that felt like a runner’s block. Then, as hard as he could, he thrust up and pushed with all his might.

Genji’s scream rang through the air. Hanzo gasped in surprise at the arm lying motionless on the ground. Genji fell back almost in slow motion, the sword rattling in his hand. “B-b-brother—!”

Genji fell on top of the papers and cardboards, the pretend plates flitting on top of him. He smiled weakly, cockily. “So now the Shimada curse is almost complete…. The whole family—Aiko, Yui and all of us—are all dead thanks to the Shimadas.”

Hanzo crept forward on the balls of his feet. “Why did you bring this on yourself, Genji?” He lowered the sword a little to press forward. “Let me help you. Bring you to…the estate.”

Genji laughed again, coughing heavily as blood poured out of his mouth. “I’ll show you that the Shimada can be destroyed.” Sadly sighing, he rallied and cried, “Ryuujin no ken wo kurae!”

Hanzo leapt back, dropping the sword and thudding against some kind of debris. He shouted back, “Ryuu ga saga teki wo kurau!”

The green dragons and blue dragons shimmered into being almost at the same instant and as one they breathed a single breath and plowed into each other. The stars blinked out of the sky as the dragons lit up, attacking each other and energy exploding above the brothers, pushing them backwards. The few standing piles of debris shattered like china.

Hanzo rolled away and glanced around for his bow. The quiver was crushed under a piece of something, but two arrows had survived. Snatching up the bow and the arrows, he aimed shakily at the crumpled form of the other man. “Stop your dragons, Genji! Or they will destroy us.”

Genji rolled a fraction of an inch, but didn’t seem to hear anything. Hanzo cursed—if they didn’t control the dragons, they would continue fighting each other until the entire area was destroyed. His younger brother must still be alive—he must be—for the green dragons to manifest, but if he was not in control, then those dragons were a menace.

Swallowing heavily, he loosed his first arrow, striking Genji in the side. His dragons slowed, whirling into less steady patterns. “Genji! You need to control your dragons!” Hanzo bellowed. “Genji!” 

Genji’s body collapsed completely on the cement. Hanzo ducked the glowing claws to get closer, for some reason still hoping that his younger brother would survive. It was not possible—the simple sight of the blood on the pavement showed him that—but he needed to stop those dragons once and for all.

His blue dragons plowed the tangled pair of green dragons into the street, shaking the ground and crushing a pit in the middle of the pavement. Hanzo felt a claw graze his hair and he fired again.

The last arrow was aimed to snap the shaft of the arrow in Genji’s side but a flickering green talon deflected the arrow and it slid away. The blue dragons latched onto the throat of a wounded green dragon and Hanzo flinched as their heads snapped to the sides and ripped it apart. The green dragon howled and flickered into a shower of green sparks. Genji let out a gasp of pain before going still. The remaining dragon howled and spun in attack, scraping against the street. Hanzo rolled away again, but the green dragon was already flickering away and fading. The blue dragons were howling in triumph, swirling back to his arm in a wounded grace.

Hanzo stared at the crumpled form of his brother sadly. Genji’s eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring off into a distance that Hanzo could not see and a future Hanzo could not imagine.

“Genji,” he whispered. “You did not need to die…. Where am I to go? What am I to do?” He touched the chilled form. “Who am I…without you?”

In the distance, he could hear sirens and vehicles. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gathered up the swords and propped them up with a rock. It was hardly the ceremony usually awarded to a fallen warrior or to a Shimada, but there was nothing else he could do.

Hanzo stood on shaky feet. There was nothing left off the shops or the alley where they played, nothing left of the pretend feast or the memories that might have played here. He scrambled to the roof of another building, watching as the flickering lights snaked cautiously down the streets.

Backing away from the sight, Hanzo ran over the rooftops, darting from shadow to gray-black shadow. Not that he was afraid of capture or accusation, but because he wanted simply to run. He wanted to run, to feel his muscles burn and his lungs ache. He wanted his body to hurt and hurt and continue hurting. Because his heart never would stop aching.

He was outrunning the soft sound of Yui’s voice as she called the pretend family together. He was outrunning Ichika’s little songs as she put the doll in the little basket and wrapped it in the scrap of a blanket. He was outrunning Aiko and Yoshi as they laughed at stupid jokes and burps and farts. He was outrunning his father’s shouting and the elders’ growls.

He was outrunning Genji’s laughter.

Overhead a plane’s blinking red lights turned west and were disappearing in the western sky. Hanzo saw it and how it was red like tiny kisses of blood. There was nothing behind him—only the echoes of ghosts—but there was nothing in front of him either. Hanamura lay to the east—he could see the outermost walls from up here—but he had no intention of going back there. The plane was headed west and almost without noticing, Hanzo’s aching strides turned west underneath it.

Mariko Yomata glanced around at the tiny apartment, smiling stiffly as she dusted the low coffee table. She had a tiny patio with a handful of pots of flowers, two upstairs bedrooms, one full bathroom and a powder room. She had moved out of the first apartment a few weeks before the end of the six-month lease and on the strength of her work as a sales assistant in a large department store. That first place after that was a condominium that she had shared with a roommate and she needed only a bed, a night stand, and a desk and chair.

Gradually, she had worked her way up. There was step after step—tiny step after tiny step—as she was able to gain skills and experience. Now, over twelve years later, she had her own little apartment with a tiny garden. In comparison to some of the other apartments, it was bare with the minimum of necessary furniture, but she wasn’t there that often.

Truthfully, she spent her days at work or studying. She studied rather haphazardly—whatever caught her eye—and it was more to fill the time than to accomplish a goal or get a specific degree. Mariko decided that she was not going to even attempt to clamber up the corporate rat-race ladder—just keep doing a good job and keep filling the empty hours. So, she took the shifts no one wanted—holidays, weekends, and late nights—and kept busy so that the empty apartment and emptier hours did not haunt her.

The little patio with its high privacy fence had pots of flowers now and she had the most pointless of reasons to come home—to water the flowers. From a fundraiser for the local school, she had picked up a pair of tin dragons on a thin stake that she could slide into the pots. The local hardware store had a pretty spray paint in a nice turquoise and she positioned the painted dragons so that they floated above the wildflowers like they were flying.

She filled her little watering can and began to water the plants. The white daisies were in bloom, as were the miniature sunflowers and the big clay pot of tiger lilies. Going over the blooms carefully, she plucked off the dead flowers. Sweeping the dead leaves and blooms away in a dustpan, she looked wearily at the little garden and, in a bizarre ritual she told herself would give her luck, she scratched the painted tin dragons under their chins.

Sitting on the cement patio, she stared at the garden morosely. The neighbor’s orange tabby cat came through, took a look at her morose face as it brushed its whiskers against a pot, and then vanished underneath the fence. Her cellphone beeped and she glanced at the number. “Hello? Mr. Tanaka?” she said.

Mr. Tanaka’s voice was ebullient over the background noise and music. “Mariko! Where are you? Did you finally decide to spend some time away from work?”

She flushed, twisting a lock of hair in her fingers nervously. “M-m-mister Tanaka, I…. Yes, I decided to…. That is, I am not a-a-at work. Do I need to come in?”

He laughed, the sound grating in her ear. “No! We want you to come to the club! Finally, you’re off and I'm off and we can go together.”

Sighing, Mariko answered softly, “I-I-I’m sorry. I am busy. I-I need to go.”

“Busy? What is it this time?”

“Good bye and good night, Mr. Tanaka.” She hung up, refusing to listen to his loud protests and questionable comments about the fun he wanted to have. 

Idly, she watched a honeybee flit through and land on a flower. It was peaceful enough to watch something as impersonal and natural as a honeybee. But there wasn’t much holding her here—only a tiny portion of dinner to be reheated in the microwave and then a few television shows while she read her books and then to bed.

Maybe she did need to go out and have some fun. There seemed to be plenty of people who did—people going to nightclubs or shows or the movies. She had been invited by various people to do things, but it never felt right. Most of the time, she requested shifts so she could simply avoid others altogether, but after so many years of just working and coming home with nothing more than the hope of being exhausted enough to fall asleep quickly, it seemed to feel empty.

She was simply melancholy, she decided. The papers had been full of the “trial of the century” as two of the Shimada bosses—Shimada Sora and Shimada Kaito—were being tried on a litany of charges. They were going on three months of overwhelming details of the investigations and arrests and accusations. The rather intimidating Overwatch had become involved, offering an almost overwhelming body of evidence of the intimate workings of the Shimadas.

It was impossible to not to hear about the Shimadas now. Not a single solitary person in the world hadn’t heard of them and what they had done, who they were and what they had been guilty of for generations. No one seemed to know what had happened to the brothers who were supposed to be in charge of the clan—or if they did, they weren’t talking. The news agencies were now speculating as to whether or not other yakuza gangs were going to be investigated next.

Mariko pushed herself up. Tonight was the night. She was going to forget the wounded, chocolate eyes and the purring dragons and the rippling tattoo and strong hands. She was going to go out, find someone that she was going to have fun with. She was going to go to a movie and then to a bar.

Really. She was going to go out. She was going to put the watering can away and dress up in something pretty. She was going to a store—any store—and get some makeup. She was going to be beautiful in someone’s eyes again.

She was going to go out and get something to eat. A lot of it. She was not going to go in and pull out one of the tiny portions of food in her fridge and warm it in the microwave. She was going to go get something to drink—strong stuff.

Really. This time she was going to do it. Really…. She was going to overload whatever it was that Asahi had done to her, put in her. She was going to kill it with a massive chocolate ice cream sundae and all the beer she could handle. Asahi who had, barely one month after she had been sent here, had been arrested.

As she remembered it, Asahi’s capture had been the coup of the year. Asahi had fled Japan with a suitcase of bearer bonds and valuables and a collection of bank books to make anyone blush. He was on board a private jet with a convenient lack of paperwork towards parts unknown—some said, America, others said the UK—when the plane had been forced to land in Switzerland because of mechanical problems. Asahi had barely settled a single foot on the ground to board a different plane when he had been surrounded by agents of Overwatch. With the complicated extradition laws, it had been almost certain that he would be released on some technicality or other, but then the strangest thing happened.

An entire mountain of evidence—names, dates, recordings, pictures—had appeared and Overwatch used all of it. The news and media outlets went into overdrive, speculating on the ever increasing number of charges and the tawdry and illicit details. It was rumored that one of the witnesses that Overwatch had brought forward—a list of private witnesses who only spoke with the judge—had actually been a part of his scheme. Of course, he was found hopelessly and completely guilty. Literally, the charges and mandatory minimums mounted upwards of three centuries of jail time.

She had a small clipping of an article from his sentencing framed and put on her wall. It…helped, she supposed, to remember. Just remember enough that she was willing to put in the extra hours so that she would never, ever be on the streets again. She was never going to be answering advertisements for “models” or “actresses” ever again.

She passed that article every time she went to the patio. Every time she went to the kitchen to microwave her meals. Every time she went to do anything. She could even see that yellowed clip of paper on the wall now through the glass door that led to her small patio.

Lacking a better plan, she took her microwaved meal to the patio. She took one of the candles she had in case of emergencies and lit it so that she could eat while she watched the dimming sky. She picked at the food listlessly before setting it aside—not really remembering what it was or really caring—and watched the pink and orange sky over the spray painted dragon floating over the white daisies.

There was a rustle outside the patio and Mariko sat up suddenly. “W-who is there?” There was silence and she glanced around nervously. It was the neighbors perhaps—or their orange tabby cat who loved to crawl under the fence and visit. “Tiger-cat? Is that you?”

She stood nervously, scratching the dragon under its tin chin again—for luck. Unhooking the patio gate, she stuck her head out in the shadowed hallway between the apartment buildings. There was no orange tabby cat roaming the buildings for scraps. Instead, there was a rather intimidatingly large form in ratty clothes and a deep hood over its head and a battered guitar case on its back.

“D-d-do you live near here?” she asked softly. The figure seemed a bit startled, especially as the large orange tabby trotted around it and came up to her purring. “Look, there is nothing here to steal.”

The figure did not respond, just huddled more and looking almost morose. Mariko looked harder and picked up the cat, but she could see no features at all. “I am going back inside now.” Almost fearfully, she ducked back into the patio and locked the door. Taking the cat inside with her, she locked all the doors. She grabbed her cell phone and glanced outside one more time, looking for raggedy feet peeking underneath the privacy fence.

Nothing—no one—was there.

Hanzo didn’t stop walking until he was a block away from her building. The dragons hadn’t stopped chattering in his head. They remained on his arm—luckily—but they were insistent that she was there and that they needed to see her. He heard her voice—heard that little stutter when she was stressed. He had seen those amazing grey eyes.

Gabriel’s voice crackled over the tiny earpiece. “Hey, Shimada. The hell are you waiting on?”

“Nothing,” Hanzo muttered. He was nothing anymore, not a leader or yakuza or a brother. His family was gone—not Sojiro and his brothers and the rest of the Shimadas but Yui, Ichika, Aiko, Yoshi. Genji was gone as well. Despite the good doctor’s best efforts and the slick Omnic technology and the Omnic monk’s tutoring, the younger man was…not the same.

He had seen the news about Asahi—who hadn’t? His sparse contacts had informed him that one of Overwatch’s prime witnesses was Mai and he had been perversely proud of her for that. But, as he lingered around in the alleys and street corners outside the courtroom, trying to catch a glimpse of the witnesses—he had seen Mai and both his uncles, but not Mariko. He had lurked in the alleys, looking over the buildings from various precarious perches, but had not seen her at all. And when it was all over with, when Interpol had carried Asahi away to some prison somewhere, he kept looking and kept hoping that somehow she had been secreted in and, if he waited, he would see her again.

When he had finally joined Overwatch, he had been surprised to find Mai a resident in the medical wings and under the direction of Dr. Ziegler. The first time she saw him, she had thrown him out of the medical wing, shouting abuse and screaming curses at him. Gabriel and Jack had almost not been able to hold her back as she lunged for a scalpel to drive into his black heart. She had enjoyed a reputation of being mild mannered and sympathetic and a joy to work with, until she had first glanced at him. He pulled back, retreating into the quarters that he had been assigned. She continued to spit curses at him whenever she saw him and he had learned quickly that unless his wound was critical, he was better off attending it himself with whatever medical supplies he could beg or borrow or steal. It wasn’t until Genji returned and publicly told her that he was forgiven, that he was able to come in for healing and even then he wasn’t sure of his reception. Especially if the cyborg was also injured.

That was a hysterically ironic point. Mai had gone on to school, using the money Genji had stolen for her, to pursue her dreamed of medical career. She still, when asked, would provide wild (and sometimes contradictory) stories of how she and Genji had met and what they had done together. Despite that, she had found a Korean analyst and married him, having a son called ‘Genji’ and twins name ‘Yui’ and ‘Ichika’ who the cyborg would regularly visit and dote on.

Only now, after over a decade of regrets and sorrows and forgiveness, had he even tried to find Mariko. At first, avoiding her was an instinctive reaction to avoid any more pain the way an animal avoids an electric prod. He told himself it was to avoid leading the Shimada to her instead, and a part of him believed it. But now, with the Shimada unraveling like an old rag doll, that reason was no longer strong enough to stop him.

It was Gabriel who had pithily pointed out that she might simply have moved on with her life. The large man was an enigma who preferred to allow his past—whatever it was—to remain secret, but he did not mind poking his nose into other people’s affairs. When Hanzo had, after many, many cups of sake and almost an entire bottle of Casa Dragones tequila, started spilling the memories associated with the clear drink, Gabriel had simply snorted and said she was likely married and had kids by now. Hanzo shook his head blankly, glaring at the man, and Gabriel took another sip of his tequila and asked him to prove the big man wrong.

So, Hanzo went to Genji to look through the many computers. It took all of a week to get a full report on her—mainly to get around Jack’s protests that they did not need to investigate an innocent citizen without clear cause. She went to school and worked. She had the credits to get a liberal arts associate’s degree, but had so far failed to apply for graduation. She had an apartment and neighbors who found her so quiet that they frequently forgot she was on the other side of the wall. The neighbors and the few coworkers were all in agreement—she had no lovers, no significant friends and was in marked danger of becoming, as Jesse put it, a “crazy cat lady”.

So, with precision planning, he happened to be walking down the back alleys and past her apartment as she was eating her dinner and staring at two painted tin dragons and not even noticing that the rotund cat had brushed past her enough to steal a piece of chicken from her plate.

“Then get it in gear, Shimada.”

He nodded silently and walked on with his bow and quiver hidden in the guitar case on his back. He passed a happy couple—a young man and woman—who were quietly talking head to head and ignoring the rest of the world as she looked at a new ring on her finger. Then he passed a young man helping a pregnant woman with her groceries. He passed a playground with small children shouting and screaming as parents watched on and then older teens on a basketball court. He passed another patio where an old man was holding an old woman’s hand as they sat outside in the fine weather and drank wine together.

He followed the winding path in his ruffian disguise, and watched as what might have been passed him by. The dragons were silent as well, adding nothing to the emptiness. He told himself he was content that she was supporting herself. He told himself that he should not shatter her life again—should not put her in a position of constantly worrying and fretting about him again. He told himself that, above all, her safety relied on his distance. He told himself he would believe all that—someday.

Even if he no longer had to worry about the Shimadas, there were still people who wanted him dead. Talon would still gladly use her to get to him and then to Overwatch. He kept walking, telling himself that she would be fine without him. He kept walking, telling himself that despite all the evil and chaos and death he had brought into this world, he had kept his promise to her.

He was a treasured memory.


End file.
